


CHESS

by lethargicshadowlover



Category: Naruto
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Cute, Depression, F/M, Forbidden Love, Friendship, I promise that it's good even if the tags sound depressing, It's not mostly depressing, Love, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mild Sexual Content, Nara Shikamaru-centric, Romantic Friendship, Sand Siblings-centric, Secret Relationship, ShikaTema, Therapy, it's mostly about progression, soft, therapist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2019-09-22 04:39:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 93,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17053304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lethargicshadowlover/pseuds/lethargicshadowlover
Summary: New to the practice, Temari has trained and studied for years to help people in the treatment of mental illnesses. Sharp and high-achieving, she's sure she can handle anyone who steps through those doors and lands on the couch in her office. That is, until one difficult young man - who will only answer her questions under one, strange condition - tests her patience, her knowledge, and her self-restraint all at once.





	1. Shikamaru Nara

**Author's Note:**

> This story is still ongoing on my tumblr (notquitejiraiya) but by popular demand I'm also posting it here :) it is set in the uk as that's where I'm from, just so nobody gets confused.
> 
> Obviously all characters mentioned from the show do not belong to me.
> 
> Hopefully you all will continue to enjoy it!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first day of anything is always tough, but Temari get quite the rough deal.

“For Christ’s Sake…” muttered Temari as she sorted through the paperwork on her desk for the file of information on her next patient.

This would be the fourth of the day; fifth if you included the one that stormed out ten minutes into his appointment, complaining that ‘the last one’ they gave him wasn’t nearly as bad as her. But, from then until now, she’d been trying to sort that into a folder in the back of her mind. Still, it was undeniably haunting her conscience.

She’d spent almost eight years of her life doing nothing but solid, hard work, training to do _this_. She’d wasted her twenty-first birthday writing the essay that only _almost_ got her full marks, yet granted her a clear distinction in her given field, and the respect to finish her studies just before her classmates.

Now, at twenty-six, when her first five clients since being board approved hadn’t left out a single detail about awful she was, she realised what _this_ really was; sitting and listening to other peoples loathing, possibly—no, most likely—about her. Going off of everyone’s words, she couldn’t help but worry that maybe she’d chosen the wrong path in life.

Although it’s what she wanted to do, what she had chosen to do, Temari couldn’t stop wondering if she should’ve taken same road as her younger brothers and just had a bit more fun. After all, Kankuro was a smart guy and probably could’ve amounted to much greater things than his older sister, if only he hadn’t got so lucky. The minute he’d left school, he’d become the apprentice to the local carpenter, and worked his way up in the world, recently taking over the business as his own having only just turning twenty-five. He was skilled and worked hard each day; but he also made sure his fun and social life were never outweighed by his job. Multiple nights a week, Temari would come home to the house her and her brothers shared to find Kankuro sprawled out across the sofa, a beer in hand and a massive grin across his face.

Sometimes he’d be alone, sometimes not, but either way it had become customary for her to cook him a fry up the following morning if she had time. She hated it; she found them greasy and hated the smell of eggs with a passion, but it made Kankuro's spirits lift instantly, so she could never turn down making one.

The youngest of the family, Gaara, was currently studying Law, hoping to become a defense attorney some day. He was, by far, the most gifted and successful of the children, and although Temari was intelligent, even with her three extra years on the earth she could only just match him in a battle of wits.

But even _he’d_ had more fun than her! He’d dyed his hair bright red and always wore tons of eye makeup, not caring if it looked ‘unprofessional’ to his lecturers or if it would ‘get him fired’ when finally he was hired.

That was a trait he and Kankuro both possessed: the ability to block out what they didn’t want to care about. It was something Temari wished she, too, had inherited.

But, as she sat there, skimming through the threadbare file of the man about to walk through the door, she couldn’t help but worry about all the things she wished she didn’t care about.

_Will he let me help him? Or is this all just a waste of time…?_

She checked her watch for the third time that minute. If only time would slow down then maybe she’d be prepared for this. She’d practiced a million times this very scenario, but now it was happening with a real person her confidence that she could do it properly was wavering.

“Urgh!” she groaned, flopping down and banging her head against the table, not stopping. Even when the door creaked open she couldn’t hear over the banging that echoed through her head.

“Before we start, I’d like to say something,” said a deep raspy voice from in front of her. “I really don’t see how it’s worth my time getting supposed ‘mental help’ from someone who, quite frankly, doesn’t look at all like she has her life together.”

Sheepishly, Temari raised her head and locked eyes with the tall, slender man stood in front of her. His black hair was bundled on the top of his head in a ponytail, eyes narrow and bored. He’d said two sentences and he already looked ready to leave, and she knew immediately he wasn’t here by choice. But that didn’t explain the lack of information in the file.

“Sit,” she ordered, sitting up and resting her elbow on the desk in front of her.

The young man didn’t move a muscle, he just blinked at her like she was an idiot.

Temari frowned at him, clenching her teeth and balling her fists on the table in front of her. “Please, kid. Now.”

Lethargically, he flopped onto the plush, black leather sofa that sat in front of her desk. The tiny weight he carried managed to shift it to a peculiar angle from before which she couldn’t help but find awfully annoying. She made a mental note to shuffle it back when he inevitably left in a few minutes time.

“Okay,” she said, in a dull, negative tone, “for starters, I have got my life together, I’m just having an awful day-”

“You think you’re having a bad day?” laughed the young man, shaking his head. He lay back on the sofa, raising his eyebrows at her, before turning to look at his feet, perched up on the arm of the couch in front of him. “I reckon I can top that.”

“You do? How so?” Sneakily, Temari pulled out her note pad and bit down on the end of her ball-point pen, readying herself to delve into the mind of this guy.

He sighed. “Well, my parents—”

“Actually, um, what’s your name?” She looked down at the sheet on her desk with what little information had been provided to her. “All I have here is Nara, but I’m assuming that’s your surname.”

“Shikadai.”

Slowly her head rose and she raised her eyebrows, shaking her head as she jotted down something on her notepad.

 _Trust issues_ , she wrote.

“I don’t have trust issues.”

Her head shot up, frowning. “How did you—”

“It’s what the last one said. Bloody hell, I just don’t want to give you my name.”

Temari huffed and covered her face with her hands.

 _I’m not sure I can deal with such an uncooperative person right now_ , she thought. _This kid is just a pain in the arse. If my approval wouldn’t get revoked, I swear to God…_

As calmly as she could, she looked up and smiled at him as best she could. “Okay, kid. I am forbidden share what you tell me whilst I’m acting as your psychiatrist to anyone unless I think it’ll result in harm to you or anybody else.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “And, honestly, I don’t want to act like I’m superior to you, but I also don’t want to be your best mate, okay? Let me put that out there.”

“Glad to hear it.” Why was he so dismissive?

This only fuelled Temari to keep on ranting. “This is my first day doing this on my own and I’ve done nothing right according to my patients. I’ve tried to be kind and friendly _just_ like I was taught, but that’s just made them all hate me. So now I’m just going to be frank with you and treat you like a human being, cause I can’t keep up this act much longer.” She leant back in her chair and groaned. “Don’t grow up, kid. Life just fucks you over.”

From his chair, her patient looked at her, raising his eyebrows slightly. She watched as he crossed his arms and cocked his head to one side. Although he was possibly the most negative, bored-sounding boy she’d ever encountered, she couldn’t help noticing he was quite attractive.

She wasn’t sure how long it had taken him to perfect the messy ponytail he wore, but it was sure as hell time well spent. His eyes were dark, almost black in colour, and his jawline sharp; so sharp Temari felt like she’d cut her finger if she ran it across…

No, she had to stop. this He was her patient and patients were more than off limits, no matter how sharp and precise their jawlines. Not to mention how young he looked, too young for her.

“Shikamaru,” he finally said, in a slightly more upbeat tone than before. “My name is Shikamaru. And, before you say it even one more time; I’m twenty-three. I am not a kid, I’ve grown up already.”

Temari felt her eyes widen as she bit her lip. How on earth was _he_ twenty-three? He was too skinny, bones stretched so tight across his hands as if they didn’t know how to sit yet, and he wasn’t nearly as well put together as Gaara even though they were, apparently, the same age.

“I’m sorry. Your age wasn’t included in the information I was given, and I just thought—”

“It’s fine. I don’t need the sympathy.” He sighed. The bored tone was back. “I can tell you’ve been fucked about with today, but at least your that side of the desk.”

“What do you mean?” she frowned. Of course she knew what he meant, what made _that_ come out of her mouth?

Shikamaru closed his eyes and let his head fall back, seemingly lulling into a relaxed state. “I mean, at least you’re not the one who’s seen five different therapists in the past year.”

_How did he get juggled around that much?_

“Do you still live with your parents?”

He nodded. “I moved out for a while, but after I…” He stopped, swallowing and shifting his weight. The couch creaked. “Let’s just say they insisted I come back so they could take care of me.”

Right now, her training would’ve told Temari to lift her pen and start to make notes on his attitude, words and body language, trying to unearth his inner demons. But the empathetic side of her worried that, if she did, he’d stop opening up. He’d come here for a reason, and she didn’t want to belittle that reason with a ballpoint pen.

“Take care of you after what?”

“That’s like asking for my life story, Miss…” Shikamaru chuckled.

“Temari,” she said, resting her chin in her hands, “and that’s _exactly_ what I’m asking for. Tell me everything. I get paid to listen to you talk and try and help, and while I _still_ get paid for you saying nothing, I’d rather help you out. I’m game to listen to even the biggest load of crap I’ve ever heard, just talk to me.”

His eyes narrowed and she saw his lips curve up into a slight smile.

She frowned. “What?” she barked, straightening and stiffening up.

“You say you’re done with being friendly and kind, Temari,” smirked Shikamaru, “but so far you’re possibly the nicest woman I’ve ever met.”

“You can’t have met many nice women - seriously.” She could feel herself beginning to blush. 

Laughing, he shook his head. “No, I suppose not.”

He sat up a little and looked over at one of the larger shelves in the room, and she watched as his eyes skimmed and scanned every nook and cranny from top to bottom, left to right. Then, all of a sudden his eyes came to a halt and his feet planted on the ground. Temari followed Shikamaru’s gaze to the shelf to meet the black and white checks of a wooden block. He got to his feet and shuffled over toward the shelf, taking the checkered-board in his hands once he reached it.

“Telling you my life story will be a drag,” he said softly. “However, it’ll be less troublesome if you let me play.”

Temari frowned, looking at him with a look of total confusion. “Chess?” she muttered. “You come to a psychiatrists office and you want to play chess?”

Shikamaru lifted the board and placed it on the coffee table in the centre of the room. Silently, hands in his pockets, he stepped up to Temari’s desk, cocking his head to one side. “Chess is my passion…it’s like a stress-reliever. Brilliant for the mind _and_ for the nerves, don’t you think?”

“You really _aren’t_ a kid,” sighed Temari, shaking her head. “You know exactly how to get in someone’s head; you could probably do this job better than me.”

A crooked smile appeared on his face again, big and strong. “From what your previous clients said in the waiting room, it seems most people could.”

“Shut up and set up the chess board!” she snapped, holding back the laugh she was trying so hard to suppress. “I’m going to wipe the floor with you, and you’re going to spill your life story. Clear?”

“I’ll tell you what you want to know,” Shikamaru said, turning his back to her and chuckling. “Although, I can’t promise you’re not going to lose to me. On paper I’m a genius.”

“Success on paper never guarantees success in practice.”

“Touché.”

“Now, set it up. If your lucky, I might even tell you about myself.” It was hardly customary, but if it was going to get him to talk—to help him—it was worth it. 

Temari got to her feet and clasped her hands together.  As she did so, she clumsily knocked over the cappuccino onto Shikamaru’s information sheet. It wasn’t like she’d need it anymore, but she cursed under her breath anyway, catching the young man’s attention.

Shikamaru turned to face her, chuckling as he spotted the spilt coffee. “I’d like that…” he told her without much feeling in his voice, just shaky laughter.

“How about we make a deal, then, Shikamaru?” Temari asked, crossing her arms and stepping closer to him. “Whoever loses first has to talk. You know, answer a couple of questions or something. ”

He stepped closer to her and crossed his arms across his chest, looking down into her eyes. Three years younger than her but taller by at least six inches. “I’m good with that,” he replied snidely. “After all, I haven’t lost a chess match since my ninth birthday.”

Temari couldn’t help but wonder if this client’s personality and mind was a bit too dense; too complex for a recent-graduate, a newbie on all accounts. He never seemed to look more than slightly interested in anything she had to say. Well, not until he’d spotted the chess board at least.

_Is he just a complete nerd? No, that’s not a diagnosis. That’s just putting him into a clique…_

Inwardly she felt something twang inside her, a confused and sickening shiver rocketing through her body. However, she didn’t know if that was due to her slight intimidation from her client’s height and brains; her attraction to his sharp, shadowed jawline; or the worry that she was in way too deep for her own good with this guy.

But one thing she did know was that Shikamaru was too smug about his ability to play this game, and she needed to pull him down off his high horse and get some information out of the bloke.

“Set it up then,” she muttered. “We’ve got a game to play.”


	2. Check Mate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pair battle it out to quiz each other, yet nobody quite feels like the winner.

His knight slid straight through her defences like she’d build up nothing, taking her queen as it did so. And, as desperately as she tried to hold in her frustration, Temari was aware of how her scowl was growing, and how the man opposite could so clearly see it.

“What’s wrong?” he muttered, smirking. “You don’t like to lose?”

Temari groaned and shoved her chin into her hands, staring at the board intensely. “You haven’t won yet. Don’t get cocky.” With a click her bishop took the rook that was slowly advancing toward her king, and her smile grew smug. “And there you were, thinking that you had me. But then—”

“Check.”

Her jaw dropped. “No.”

Her desire to play tit-for-tat had ruined her focus, and there before her she had one move she could make. Move her king. But if she did, he’d put her in check mate the next move. Desperately she tried to think of some escape, but nothing came to her; her focus was far too unsteady due to the dark stare from the man before her.

She had _seriously_ underestimated her opponent.

Unwillingly, her fingers grabbed the king and moved it, sealing fate. “Okay, that’s it. You win.”

Smug and chuckling, Shikamaru ended the game before sitting back and grinning, pleased with himself. “Thank you. So it’s you doing the talking, it seems,” he smiled. “What shall I ask you?”

“Whatever,” grumbled Temari. “Just get it over with. This is so unprofessional.”

“No, it’s not. You’re ‘ _connecting_ ’ with you patient, aren’t you?” The look on his face was anything but reassuring. He was clearly spiteful at his core. “Besides, it was your idea  _so..._ tell me about your childhood.”

“No.”

“You said anything, Miss Temari.”

“Just Temari will do, thank you.”

“Just _tell me_  about your childhood. This is the deal: you talk until you win, then you get to choose.”

 _This was a poor decision,_  she thought to herself, rolling her eyes as her hands automatically reconfigured the pieces before her. _I stand no chance at winning against him. Not fairly._

“Fine,” she sighed. “Under one condition. If I take more of your pieces next game, you have to talk about _your_  childhood.” 

“One-hundred percent would rather kill myself.”

“Which is something we don’t say in this room if we don’t want to keep coming back, okay?”

For the first time in this conversation, her tone was genuinely caring, as though she actually cared that such a thought would come to his mind, and Shikamaru felt the pit of his stomach rise with warmth.

Slowly, he nodded. “Okay,” he whispered. “If I really must.”

 _That was too easy._  Temari scratched her head as she made her first move. _There’s so much more to this._

“So, basically here’s the low-down…” She rubbed her palms together. “My mum died when I was three, when she had my little brother.”

Shikamaru’s eyes widened. “Oh, wow, I…”

“It’s fine, don’t say you’re sorry—not that you need to—I just feel like that’s something I should get out of the way before I say the rest.” She stared at the board intently, smiling slightly. “I don’t remember her much, but I remember she liked the little pink flowers that grow on cacti. Dad used to put them on her resting place when he could, and we always had cacti on windowsills throughout our house, to remember her, you know. Not that we’d forget her.”

“So you and your brother were raised by your dad?” he asked, knocking the first pawn aside.

“Brothers— _plural_. I’m the eldest of three. But sort of. My godfather and I basically raised my little brothers. They’d be fucking obnoxious if it wasn’t for Baki and me, I think. After all, to be one-hundred-percent influenced by my father would create power-trip after power-trip.”

“Guessing you didn’t like him?”

“Oh no!” she chuckled. “I loved him, of course. I _had_ to—he was my dad and he did everything he could for us all. He was the mayor, by the way, in my hometown for like 10 years. From just before my youngest brother was born to when I was almost fourteen.”

“Do you still live with him?”

“No,” she replied, biting her lip. “He died, too.”

Shikamaru put another piece down, much more carelessly than the last, and bit down on his own bottom lip as he looked at her. “I’m—”

“No, please don’t give me that look, Shikamaru,” she laughed. “I do not want your sympathy, I’ve had enough. I was old enough to deal with it properly, we lived with our godfather, all was well.”

She took yet another piece, advancing on the king.

“So,” Temari summarised, “I do not have a troubled past or childhood. Yeah, I’m orphaned, by childbirth and an accident, but I’ve come to terms with that. It’s been over a decade since then, even my little brothers are okay with it.”

“I feel awful.” His eyes were set on her, deep and concerned.

Temari leaned on her palm. “Because you feel bad for me or because you lost?”

Shikamaru’s eyes faltered and fell.

“Check mate.”

“Oh, fucking hell…”

“ _And_ ,” she smirked, “I took more pieces. You talk about your childhood now, please. Plus something else I decide.”

“Um, no. I don’t think so.”

“Um, yes. I _do_  think so.”

His dark eyes squinted with a frown. “No. Nobody agreed to the ‘something else’ bit.”

“But you will do it, because otherwise you’re going to be back here way more than you’d like to be.”

Immediately there was a shift in his attitude, and his hands started to pick up the pieces. Temari watched as silently he closed his eyes with a tremendous sigh and began to set up the game, and for a moment she worried if this had taken them to a wall—a point that he would not allow them to pass, for she was not strong enough or understanding enough to break through. But then, after a minute of quiet and gentle clicks, he made his first move.

“I didn’t have a bad childhood,” he began, softly and slowly. “And don’t get me wrong, my parents are alright, they’re just a drag. Dad was in the military—not so much a fighter, more of a strategist—before I was born. So, it’s not like he was strict, just kind of…you know.”

“I don’t. Sorry.”

“I kinda just got on with everything. He never said it, but I always kinda felt like he’d tell me I was shit if I ever wimped out on stuff, or did things half arsed.” He sighed, knocking aside my first pawn. “But I could never be bothered, and at my core I guess that made me feel like I was broken. Why didn’t I have the drive to succeed like my dad? I just couldn’t figure it out.”

“At school, it was always stupidly easy. Math, sciences, computing, all of that stuff was a breeze for me from the very start; it was all logical, it had an answer and it made sense for that, you know?” Shikamaru made a gesture toward the board before them as he spoke. “Talking of logic, I always won the county Chess championships. But, despite being captain of the school’s chess club,” he chuckled, smirking at her almost proudly, “I think I only went to one meeting in the 5 years I was in it, and that was just to beat the captain at the time. He got upset and resigned, so I took over.”

Temari bit down on her lip and tried to ignore his facial expressions. From the sound of it, Shikamaru was the exact sort of kid she’d hated when she was at school—one she’d have been jealous of beyond belief. And, now, even years after her school days were over, she felt that jealousy crawl back and nip at her ears with each passing word.

“I’m off track,” he continued. “But I guess what I’m saying is that it always seemed like I tried, but I didn’t—I didn’t have to. I was just good. I had a genius IQ and so Dad just kinda assumed that, like him, I’d worked to build it, but I hadn’t.”

“I always liked Literature. I was top of the class at that,” Temari bragged, smarmy and desperate to better her opponent in some way.

“See, I hated it. To commit to writing essay upon essay? No thanks, man. What a drag.”

“Well, I liked it. It only came second to biology.”

“Nah, it was always maths for me, without a shadow of a doubt. It was the only one I ever put effort into out of choice. Not to brag or anything, but I didn’t need to do my homework to understand things most of the time—”

Temari’s eyes rolled half way around the globe and back. “Of _course_  you didn’t.”

“—but I always did my math homework. Partially because my Dad would walk in and I’d have to pretend to study sometimes, but partially because I actually cared about it. When I was fourteen I knew the whole syllabus, so my teacher started to give me stuff I shouldn’t have been able to do, and for once…” He started to smile, a more real and comforted grin than any of those he’d given before. “I couldn’t do it. And I remember going home and actually _working_  to solve those problems, and more than that I remember the smile on my teacher’s face when I came back a week later and asked him for help.”

“So, you’re one of _those_ guys.”

“From the unhelpful start I made to this session, are you really that surprised?”

Temari shook her head, undoubtedly in agreement with him. “Oh, no; I realised you were the ‘I-don’t-need-help’ type. What I didn’t expect was you to be the ‘admits-I’m-like-this-first-session’ type.”

He followed in the shaking of her head, sitting back just after he darted his bishop all the way across the board. “Temari,” he muttered, “you give such mixed signals.”

A blush flew across her cheeks as she stammered, “W-What? No, I don’t! I’m a professional! I-I…you’re just—”

“Don’t take it to heart, love.”

_God, don’t call me that or else I may be less professional._

She had to manually shake herself out of that mindset as she took his bishop with a joltily moved knight.

“All I mean is you say you want to help me, but then you almost take the piss,” he remarked. “It isn’t too much, don’t worry. I won’t be offended or leave you a bad review on _therapists.net_  or anything.”

“That doesn’t exist,” she said aloud. _It probably does if you look hard enough,_  she thought.

Shikamaru’s bright white smile flooded her senses once more. “Well, either way. All I meant is that your brutal ‘tell-it-as-you-see-it’ therapy tactic might not work on everybody.” He bit down on his lip as though holding back a laugh as his queen advanced on her defences.

“That isn’t a therapy tactic, Shikamaru.”

“Sorry, should I have said _method_?”

“Nor is it a _method_ ,” she smirked. “It’s just how I talk to my friends is all.”

A sharp laugh sounded from him. “I’ve known you less than an hour and you’re supposed to be counselling me. I’m not your friend.”

“But,” mumbled Temari, as she felt the pit of her stomach grow empty, “there’s no use you being a stranger to me, or even uncomfortable around me. If that were the case I’d never be able to help you.”

For a moment she though he was looking at her with a sense of happiness, a thankfulness for her efforts. But then she heard the clatter of a chess piece falling down and the wheezy laugh of the young man through his smiling, gritted teeth, and she knew her time in power was over.

“Check mate, _again_.”

The game was his, and a beep of her watch told her that, just like that, their hour was gone. Hearing the tone, Shikamaru dragged himself to his feet and yawned, thanking her for the game. Nothing more came from him about what this session was for, and she decided not to bring it up; she would likely call the number on his file regarding today's session and arranging another. That was definitely for the best.

However, as she watched as he stood in the doorway fishing a cigarette out of it’s box from his pocket and placing it between his lips, in a way she never had felt before Temari was disappointed to say goodbye to a man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am just spamming all the chapters that are currently already up on tumblr, hence the mass uploads :)


	3. The Lasagne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Temari comes home to the usual brotherly love she's always dealt with.

“So, how was it?”

Temari threw her bag and keys down on the table and gawked as she saw her younger brother lounging across her sofa. “Kankuro, that’s _my_  lasagna!”

“It was in the freezer,” he laughed back, shovelling the food into his mouth with reckless abandon. He preceded to mumble with his mouthful. “It wasn’t labelled. It’s mine now.” With a gulp, he turned around fully, grinning. “Unless you want it back.”

“As if I want it back.” For the thousandth time today, Temari rolled her eyes. “You have mince in your teeth by the way. God, when did you become so gross?”

“I am not gross. Grab me a beer.” When his sister scowled, the younger man smiled hopefully, adding a feeble, “Please?”

She laughed, shuffling over to the fridge to grab her brother _and_  herself a can each, before lobbing one his way and cracking hers open. “You owe me at least one-pound-fifty for that lasagna. Maybe two-quid.”

“Two quid?” Kankuro seemed offended at the demand, almost snarling. “Two bloody pounds for a medium sized plate of mediocre lasagna? I don’t fucking think so, Tem.”

“The hell do you mean ‘medium sized’ and ‘mediocre’. Piss off you ungrateful sod, it wasn’t even for _you_.” Temari groaned as she kicked her shoes off and hurled herself over to the sofa next to him. “Where’s Gaara?” She stuck her finger into the tomato sauce on the side of his plate, and immediately Kankuro snatched it away.

“Who cares? Stop eating my lasagna and answer my question.”

“ _Your_  lasagna?” she argued, bemused. “No, I don’t bloody think—”

“Oh, just shut up and tell me how your day went.” He turned down the TV, virtually to mute and stared at her. “How was your first batch of weird—”

“Kankuro, don’t,” she warned. “Don’t be a dick; you know _they’re not weird_.”

He frowned, saddened. “Sorry. It’s just ever since you told me about the guy who came into your uni who said he constantly heard seagulls, it’s hard to think of anything else.”

“I get it, but there’s nothing weird about mental illness,” insisted Temari. Nothing upset her more than when people treated those who’d lost their way or were confused like they were weird, and nothing made her want to punch her little brother more than hearing him make the same sad joke for the thousandth time.

“Okay.” Kankuro placed his plate on the coffee table and sat back. “I’m sorry. But how was it? Anyone interesting?”

“I can’t tell you specifics, Kankuro. It’s utterly against the confidentiality code that comes with the job—”

“No, I know, but I’m asking how you found it.”

“Um,” she faltered, wondering how best to phrase mostly-shit-with-good-moments, without mentioning her undoubtedly favourite patient of the day. “Well, I guess it was okay.”

“Years of training and you guess it was okay?”

“Well, to be honest, Kankuro, I didn’t expect to be shat on and yelled at by the first few of them.” She could see the smile developing on his face, and quickly shot it down with a glare. “No, not _literally_  shat on. You’re such a child.”

“Sorry,” he giggled, reaching back over for his plate. “So it was crap, basically?”

Temari shook her head, taking a long swig from her beer can. “No, no, not completely.” She gave it. “Mostly shit, yes, but with good moments.” Yeah, that really was the only way to get her exact feeling across. “The last three were pretty nice to me, actually. At first I wanted to punch one of them, but that subsided. It’s tough for them, after all—nobody really _wants_  to be there.”

Solemnly, Kankuro nodded. “No, they don’t. It must be especially tough if you’re forced to go. I mean…” He paused for a moment, chewing as he thought. “I’m sure they’re forced out of love, but I can imagine that at first it won’t feel that way.”

With a small giggle, Temari got to her feet and headed for the fridge.

“What?”

She just kept smiling, rooting around the shelves until she found a microwave meal with Kankuro’s name on it. “You’re the one who’s a weirdo.”

“Oi, what? Why?”

“Because one minute you’re being stupidly insensitive, and the next you’re being really empathetic. You really _are_  ‘both a nightmare and a daydream’.” Her grin grew.

“Hey, no!” He winced. “You can’t keep throwing that back at me, okay?”

“Are we teasing him about Ana’s poem again?” sounded a voice from the hallway. “Brilliant.”

“Shut up, Gaara!”

“I certainly won’t, ‘prince of splintering wood’!”

Temari couldn’t bite down on her lip much harder than she was, trying to hold back her laughter.

“It’s not fair. Temari’s last boyfriend wrote her a song, and nobody teased _her_  about that!”

“Yeah,” retorted Gaara, “but it wasn’t actually bad at all.”

“And it was _before_  we split up,” the blonde added, smirking.

Gaara nodded in agreement, blatantly ignoring Kankuro’s desperate hand motions and groans to drop the subject. He’d picked on them enough, and the bitter break-up poem that Kankuro’s ex-girlfriend had written about him provided the pair with  _their_  chance to fight back. “Why on _earth_  did she think it was a good idea to write that?”

“And _why_  did she put it up on YouTube?” Temari put her food in the microwave and leant against the counter, arms crossed as she smiled at her youngest brother. “It has like three-thousand views now, you know?”

Kankuro slumped back into his chair, sulking.

“Yeah, I know,” chuckled Gaara. “At least a thousand of those are me.”

She tried to stifle another laugh.

“Tem?”

“Yeah, Gaara?”

“Three-thousand-and-one?”

“Oh, yes, I think maybe we should—”

“Okay, enough!” Kankuro called out, through gritted teeth. “You guys really know how to give it, don’t you?”

The redhead shrugged as he turned his attention to the kitchen table and the fruit bowl in the centre. “As do you, ‘soul with the skin of a conker’.” He played with an apple between his hands. “Ana really didn’t leave anything out did she? She wanted it to be very clear it was you she was talking about.”

“And that you were particularly _spiky_ ,” added Temari.

“Tem,” Kankuro pleaded, from his hiding place behind the cushions, “your whole job is to stop people feeling like shit. Got to admit, you’re crap at it.”

“You’re not my patient.”

“No, I’m not. But I _am_  your brother.”

“Exactly.”

Gaara nodded to her and raised his apple up as if to get her attention. “Oh, how was your day then?”

“Clearly not as good as yours,” interrupted their brother, the only person unwelcome to the conversation. “You’re far too cheerful these days. Where’s gloomy old Gaara gone who was too cool and too kind to gang up on his big brother?”

All Temari had to do was clear her throat for him to snap his head in her direction. “After living through so many years of being ganged up on by said big brother, are you really surprised he fights back?”

“Yeah, but he never used to have a sense of humour.”

“Have you considered that maybe after all the weight Dad put on his shoulders lifted that things might’ve got a little bit lighter—easier—for him?”

“ _He_  is also stood right here.” Gaara took a bite out of his fruit, uncomfortable with the rising tones of his sibling’s voices.

“I’m sorry,” Temari sighed. “I’m glad you’re free to be how you want now, Gaara.”

“So am I, man; I swear.” His older brother put his thumb up. “I just sometimes miss you being the mediator.”

Temari raised her eyebrows, gasping. “Ooh, Kankuro…big word.”

“Look, I’m not stupid—”

“We know, we know,” she giggled. “After all you earn a heck of a lot more money than we do, and you do manual labour all day—I certainly wouldn’t be up for that. I like my comfy chair, my toffees and my chess matches much better, thank you.”

The microwave, very loudly, screamed  _ping_.

The brothers frowned at her, leaning toward their sister with confusion. “Chess matches?” Kankuro enquired before Gaara could finish his mouthful. “You’re a therapist, or psychiatrist—whatever it is you choose to call it—why were you playing _chess_?”

Quickly she span around and opened the microwave, hoping the smell of ready-made, packeted curry would wake her brain up; tell her what to say. “Well,” she gulped, “I put a chess board in my office just for show, to be honest. You know I like to play, or at least I used to like to play with Baki— _we all did_ —and I thought it’d make the room look more professional. But I actually played today against one of my patients.”

“And…” Kankuro took a sip of his beer, his eyes trained on her constantly. For the first time he seemed actively interested rather than just polite and supportive for the sake of it.

“And it got him to talk when he otherwise wouldn’t,” she mumbled, smiling faintly.

“Was that the one that—”

“That I wanted to punch at first? Yeah. But he was okay; it’s not his fault.”  
Kankuro nodded slowly, looking down at his lap. She smiled at Gaara, who looked proudly at her for her efforts, and she felt warm inside—suddenly she felt like she had done well, or at least a good deed for the day. Gaara’s smile, the happy face of her once tiny little brother, always made Temari feel like she was a worthy big sister, and that she’d done a good job. She lifted her can to her lips, taking a sip as she did.

“Was he hot?”

Temari spluttered, almost spitting out the small amount of beer in her mouth. “Kankuro, what the hell?”

“Well,” he shrugged, “you did the girly melty eye thing you do.”

“I did not!” she shouted. “Gaara, tell him I didn’t!”

Feebly, Gaara screwed up his nose and shrugged. “You kinda did. In the same way you do when we see the dog rescue shelter adverts on TV.”

“That’s because I feel sorry for them, not because I think they’re _hot_  for crying out loud!”

“But you do think he’s hot,” Kankuro insisted. “You’re fanning yourself with the tea-towel. You always do that when you’re nervous.”

 _Damn them for knowing me so well,_  she thought. _But I don’t think he’s_ that _hot. Well, maybe a little bit, but only in that sort of…see it and agree kind of way. He’d my patient it’s not like I’m going to jump him. That’d be totally inappropriate._

“What colour hair does he have?” the youngest brother quizzed. “Dark?”

She silently glared back.

“I’m sorry. I was just wondering.”

Temari let out a massive sigh and pulled a fork from the draw behind her. “Black. Like, really really dark black. And it was in a ponytail, messy. He completely didn’t look in a mirror while he was doing it.”

“Yeah, you’re totally into him.”

“Kankuro!”

“Don’t lie to me,” he shot back, laughing.

“I’m not! He’s a patient; it would be totally inappropriate.” She grumbled and took a bite of her food, drooping her shoulders. When she’d finished her mouthful she sighed, mumbling, “Yes, he’s a handsome guy, but I’m not attracted to him. Like I said, he’s a patient.”

Regretfully, Gaara and Kankuro exchanged a look and dropped the subject, and Gaara strode towards his brother and fell down beside him on the sofa. As she watched them chat about their days between the pair of them, leaving her to eat in peace, she couldn’t help but notice how lucky she was to have such a family: one that cared about her so much they didn’t have to tell her because she already knew. Her siblings really were such an important part of her life, and they’d shaped who she was today.

When she saw Kankuro down the remains of his beer, she flicked open the fridge to check there were eggs and bacon inside for her brother’s fry up the next morning, and immediately she knew what he next question would be for Shikamaru Nara when she saw him again.

No, _if_  she saw him again. It wasn’t certain, after all.

Still, she had an inkling that he wasn’t the same as her; he seemed like an only child. Not in the stereotypical brattish way seen so often, the sad and lonely way that makes you feel like nobody is the same as you. It was something she desperately wanted to know and to understand, because it’s something she would never feel, but felt so sorry that anyone had to. She’d always had her brothers and they’d always had her. No matter what, they always would.

And despite their differences in height, hair colour and even gender, they were the same at heart, because they’d all had the same life growing up to some degree. That was something that bound them to one another that an only child, one as alone and miserable Shikamaru, hadn’t the chance to feel.

Nothing seemed sadder to Temari, than the thought of such loneliness. Because despite, how they’d changed and how they drove each other up the wall, nobody understood her like her brothers did, and nobody ever would. To be without them, even with all the friends in the world, would leave her companionless in that special way.


	4. The Pub

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Temari's mind is wandering, and a trip down the pub for Gaara's birthday becomes quite the ordeal.

After two weeks shuffling it’s way by, Temari could steadily feel herself progressing into _really_  knowing what she was doing; each of her patients—or clients as she preferred to say now—seemingly becoming ever more comfortable in her presence. Some she’d seen multiple times—a couple of them once a week, and a couple more every few days to keep them happy and sound—while others, like the one she’d just said goodbye to, had met her just the once.

Still, she couldn’t help but wish that the phone at reception would ring and, down the line, someone in particular would declare, “We want another session, please.” As much as she hoped for that, she wouldn’t know if they _did_  ring reception there and then. All she was told was who would be coming in before lunch, in a little brown envelope, when she arrived that morning, and who she’d be seeing after lunch in a similar fashion once lunch was nearing it’s end.

What she ought to have been hoping for was that time would rush to one-o’clock, and then for the door to click, followed swiftly by little Jo from reception stumbling over in her high heels, beaming her big bright smile and placing a nice, _short_  list of _one_  name in front of her.

_Shikamaru Nara._

It would be a lie if Temari were to say she hadn’t been thinking about the guy and their encounter a little too much, but genuinely was mostly her pondering exactly what his problems were, and how best she would help him if he came back. Given that within the first five minutes of their meeting she’d declared that she in no way wanted to be friends with him, she really wasn’t doing a good job of sticking to her word, but she reckoned Shikamaru had figured that out following the final chess match they’d played that same afternoon. One thing she’d realised, in the short time he spoken to her, was that the guy needed to talk, and he wasn’t going to do that to anyone but a friend.

However, it still puzzled her how bare his file was. It had been ever so vague; a surname, a phone number for their family doctor and the phrase “highly depressed and will not take medication.” Literally _everybody_  else she had seen had more in their file than Shikamaru—then again literally everyone else other than Shikamaru had written their own file, or at least helped. She knew for a fact that he hadn’t, and the lack of information intrigued her further.

With a sigh, her elbows fell to her desk and she let her eyes flutter shut, as if it would transport her to a place of greater understanding. Blindly her fingers fumbled across her desk for the little bowl of toffees she left there for her clients, but felt her shoulders droop with disappointment when only four came into contact with her hand at long last.

Nearly everybody had taken one this week, probably just because she made it very clear they were there, and she was glad when she saw a little spark in people’s eyes as they did. Then again, she’d forgotten that she’d have to keep buying more out of her own pocket if people liked them this much; desk toffee was certainly not in her employers budget, after all.

As she began to unwrap one, there was a gentle tap on the door.

“Come in!” she called out, cheerfully.

The doorknob twisted quickly, and into the room fell the receptionist, grinning her usual, adorable grin as she bounced over to the desk.

Temari frowned, still politely smiling back at the happy young woman. “Oh, Jo—hi! If you need me for anything that can’t be done in this chair, I’m not off lunch for another ten minutes, sorry…”

“Oh, I know,” Jo giggled with blushing cheeks as she placed the usual brown enveloped list before Temari. “Your next one is early, so I thought I ought to let you know in case they wander in anyway.”

“Oh, thank you, then. Is it Mrs…Mrs…” Temari clicked her fingers desperately, but the name she was thinking of just wouldn’t come to her. “I can’t remember her name, Jo. The lady who talks endlessly about the swimming club.” She hadn’t felt so rude or so stupid since she’d started working there. The lady came in every few days, and yet Temari never managed to remember her name. All her notes on the woman were entitled ‘Swimming Club’ for a reason.

Fortunately, Jo just smiled. “Francisco, Miss. Mrs Francisco. And no, but you have got her at 3 if you look.”

Biting her lip and flushed beet red with embarrassment, Temari nodded. “Thank you, then.” She smiled and sat back, slipping the contents out of the envelope slowly. “Send the next person in on your way out, if you like,” she added, careful to be polite.

“You’re sure you don’t want your ten minutes?”

She shook her head, laughing. “No, I’ll manage. But thanks, Jo.”

With as much spirit as she entered with, Jo fled the room, leaving the door slightly ajar behind her. Before Temari could pop the unwrapped candy in her mouth and turn over the contents of her envelope, she heard another knock. And, with so much hope bubbling in the pit of her stomach, her head raised to the man who stood before her.

“Hi there, Jai,” she greeted, bright and cheerful to mask the overwhelming feeling over disappointment she couldn’t deny feeling. “Here, take a seat. How’re you doing?”

* * *

 

“You’ll never guess what.”

“Won’t I, Kankuro?”

Wrapped up in her winter coat, Temari strolled alongside her brothers toward the pub right at the end of their road. Tomorrow was Gaara’s birthday—and a few days after that one of his closest friend’s birthday, too—but, it being Friday night, the celebrations were to begin early; specifically now. So, while both Kankuro and Temari were beyond exhausted, they weren’t going to turn down their little brother’s want for them to go.

Winter always came far too early up here in Temari’s opinion, and it left far too late. Yes, she knew that January would always be colder, but did it really have to stay _this_  cold if it hadn’t been any warmer since mid-October? Bitterly, as the wind hit her cheeks, she sulked, and remembered how it was never so cold where she used to live, down south with her parents.

Still, as she felt her teeth chattering, out of habit she leant against Kankuro, who threw an arm across her shoulders, just the way he always had. Sometimes he was a very sweet little brother.

“Tell me what, then,” she added, knowing full well that he would _actually_  make her guess otherwise. “Is it about that girl you’re seeing, because if it is and it’s vulgar, _I do not want to hear it_.”

Kankuro shook his head, smirking. “No. Suki is the one who told me, but no. Apparently Ana’s leaving The Bluebird and going to work at _your_  offices as a receptionist.”

“I hate it being called offices, but wow: small world, eh.” Temari sighed. “I hope that doesn’t mean Jo is leaving. I like Jo…”

“And we hate Ana,” Kankuro added, grimacing.

Temari couldn’t help but agree. As hilarious as the poem video was, Ana was a pain in the arse—not just to Kankuro but to everyone.

“Kankuro?” Gaara piped up, carefully stepping over each crack in the pavement. “Is it not at all odd that you’re just making you’re way through the girls who work in that bakery?”

“Why would it be?”

“Well, I know your shop is pretty much next door but _really_? Maybe explore a bit rather than just going back to The Bluebird every time you fancy.”

Kankuro went silent, and merely looked at his reflection in the unlit windows they passed as they walk. He adjusted his collar with a huff.

“He’s kind of right,” added Temari feebly. “It’s like if I were date all four of the guys who live in number fifty-two just cause they’re next door.”

“I see them every day when I open up, alright?” he fought back, frowning. “Was my news not interesting or something?”

Temari giggled and elbowed him in the ribs playfully. “Perfectly interesting, just remind me to ask her about the poem as much as possible.”

“Well that’s the drink I was going to buy you scheduled to be poured over your head.”

“That’s fine.” Temari moved closer to her littlest brother and nudged him. “Which friend of yours is it we’re meeting again?”

Kankuro sniggered. “The fact you don’t remember is the only clue you need…”

“Ohh!” She nodded enthusiastically. “Trenchcoat kid.”

Gaara rolled his eyes. “Shino isn’t that forgettable. People have remembered him in police line-ups.”

“You say that as if it’s a good thing, Mr I-Wannabe-A-Lawyer.”

“Well, it’s never actually been him who’s done anything wrong, Kankuro. And it’s not his fault.”

“No,” Temari agreed. “It’s the psycho-trenchcoat and hood that do it.”

“Be nice!” Gaara insisted, stepping into the warm light that spilled out of the pub’s windows. He reached for the door handle and, with one big pull, yanked it open. “It’s my birthday, after all.”

As she followed him through the door and up few steps to the level of the bar, Temari tutted endlessly at her youngest brother. Over the last few years, since getting his degree and doing law further, Gaara had realised that neither of them had the nerve to argue with him anymore. Then again, he rarely used that to his advantage except in the most trivial of situations. Examples included who was taking out the bins (only sometimes Gaara), who was designated driver for various events (rarely Gaara), who had to go answer the door at eight in the morning on a Saturday ( _never_  Gaara), and—Temari’s least favourite of all—the ‘it’s my birthday con.’ How he’d say, “It’s my birthday” any day with any association to his birthday and get away with it drove her nuts, and yet she never told him to shut up. She didn’t have the heart.

Temari slid her coat from her shoulders as she approached the bar and rooted around in the pocket of her jeans for a few pound coins. Just as she fished out four, Kankuro placed a note in her hand, and she sneakily edged her way to the front of the queue. The sister always got the drinks; she could worm her way forwards without people getting angry like they would at Kankuro for his barging or Gaara for his backtalk. Temari would slide effortlessly through and apologise as if she didn’t realise, and people seemed to fall for it.

She wasn’t a deceptive person, but doing it made her feel cool to be perfectly honest.

“Two pints, and a large gin and tonic, please.” She asked the guy at the bar, chucking him the exact amount of money she knew she needed. This pub was…quite the place, and the siblings had come here enough to know that efficiency was the key getting served quick.

But the barman didn’t seem to realise that. He was new; she didn’t recognise him, and they came in here _often_.

“Okay, Miss,” the man replied. His chubby cheeks dimpled as he smiled and he pushed his light brown hair out of his eyes. “One second.”

“Hey, Chōji!” A voice called from the other end of the bar. “What’ve I gotta do to get a drink, man? This is such a pain!”

Temari froze, her head slowly turning in the direction of the voice, and stopping when she locked eyes with the man it belonged to. He looked just as startled as she felt at first, like a deer in  caught in headlights, but slowly his mouth stopped gaping and her raised his hand calmly, as if to wave. But she didn’t know what to do—what was customary in this situation? Say hello, she assumed, but how could she say hello without asking him anything else. The psychiatrist in her couldn’t help but want to query, however she _knew_  how irritating that would be, and she wanted him to come back and see her.

So, as Chōji—the barman—handed her three drinks that she didn’t reckon she could carry, all she managed was to smile and look away. These were bigger glasses than they usually gave her, and when she tried to pick them up altogether, they shook in her grip.

Slowly, she took a step back and thanked the barman, and managed to negotiate the small crowd that had developed without any glasses slipping. But she could feel one going, and the last thing she wanted to do was break a glass and cause a fuss. Then again, what else could she do. Gaara and Kankuro wouldn’t hear her over the chatter if she called them, and no table nearby was free to readjust. With one more step she said her prayers for her gin, as it slid down slightly, and braced herself for the crash on the floor.

But it didn’t come.

“Hey, look. Let me take that, yeah.”

Temari opened her eyes a crack to see before her the exact person she’d been hoping to see for weeks. In one hand he held her drink, and in the other he kept in place the beers that tried to wriggle from her hands. And, while he wasn’t exactly smiling, he didn’t look nearly as pissed off as when she’d last seen him. Still, _that_ wasn’t the way to start a conversation, was it?

“Shikamaru, hey,” she said, with a grateful smile. “You don’t look nearly as pissed off as you did two weeks ago.”


	5. The Bartender's Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shikamaru has a few things to explain to his best friend.

Shikamaru’s eyebrows raised and be spluttered with amazement. “Wow. Awfully nice of you to say so.”

“Sorry, it’s just that you were so angry that day,” she backtracked desperately. “But you seem really…really…”

“Normal?”

“Yeah, I guess. I guess normal works.” She could feel her cheeks burning, and the tops of her ears felt like they might set fire to her hair. “Um,” she stammered, trying to laugh it off. “Thank you. For helping me with the drinks, I mean.”

He shook his head, clearly forcing a smile. “Don’t mention it. But maybe take me to your table so I can go?”

“Oh!” Temari whipped her head around, trying to relocate the target of her brothers. “It’s amazing what a distraction can do to confuse you, isn’t it?”

“Mhmm.”

Affronted, she looked back at him. “Well you can fuck off if you can’t stomach being polite,” she said, jokingly and desperately trying to mask the feeling of uselessness that was bubbling inside of her. “I’m just trying to be friendly.”

“I know, but you don’t need to do that.”

She huffed and started to walk towards the red hair she spotted in the corner, feeling the looming presence of the young man behind her. “If you don’t want me to be friendly you should’ve just let me drop the glass and completely avoided this interaction.”

“I could’ve,” chuckled Shikamaru. “But contrary to your belief, I’m not a _complete_  dick.”

She stopped and stared back at him. “I literally have no idea if you’re right or not.”

“You barely know me.”

“Yeah! I barely know you, but when you came and saw me I thought you were kind of…” Her eyes rolled. “I don’t know—loosening up, I guess.”

“You say that as if I’m tense.”

“Honestly, you are. To be around at least. I guess I forgot quite how stressful the first half of our session was.” Temari turned and rubbed her neck with her free hand, mumbling to herself, “And to think I wanted you to come back so I could help you.”

Behind her, Shikamaru gave a weak smile, biting on his lip. “So you are you here with?”

“You don’t have to be polite, _sir_. You don’t even have to say anything.”

A faint laugh sounded behind her, and she wanted to see it. She wanted to see this man smile. But she couldn’t let herself turn again. She had to keep face.

“Family? Friends? Partner?”

“Please just leave it,” she pleaded, her tone loaded with frustration and sadness.

Shikamaru felt his heart sink slightly. What was the point in trying to right something if the other person won’t appreciate you trying. “Hey, I’m sorry, love,” he sighed. “I feel just as awkward about this as you do.”

Temari couldn’t help but snort. “Oh, no,” she insisted. “I highly doubt that.”

“Trust me,” he replied.

She stopped, staring straight ahead at her brothers—she had to smile and nod when Kankuro mouthed something to her, asking if she was okay—but out of the corner of her eyes she could see Shikamaru, and his messy hair above her.

“Is that him then?” he asked, seemingly looking the same way, and sighing as he did. “That your boyfriend?”

Temari spluttered, laughing and almost dropping the drink that had been so thankfully saved. “Oh, God no, that’s my brother. The one with the red hair is my other brother.” She turned toward him, finally breaking her stubborn wish to keep face and grimaced. “You can come say hi, if you want.”

“No, I shouldn’t.”

“It’s fine,” she insisted. “It’s not like you’re my client anymore. If ghosting your psychiatrist was a thing, then that’s precisely what you did.”

Shikamaru snorted, grinning. “Yeah, I guess I did. But I didn’t guarantee a next session, so you shouldn’t feel so let down by me.”

“I do not feel let down, shut up,” she lied, biting her lip. “Besides, you seem happier today. Like I so rudely said a minute ago.”

Thankfully, his smile kept on. “It comes and goes. You know how it is, you studied it.” Slowly it began to fade and his eyes grew sad. “I booked in to see you on Monday.”

She felt her eyes widen, and tried her damned best not to smile and grin at him.

“I reckon you’re the only one who’s gone help me, to be honest,” he sighed. “You aren’t patronising like some of the others. Or full of shit. You just talk to me like a human being.”

“Well,” Temari mumbled, averting her eyes as her cheeks flared red, “I try to. I know it isn’t nice, and I just want to be helpful. Like a friend but you know…”

“Better?”

Her face felt like it was burning. “Oh, no,” she giggled. “I was going to say qualified. Nothing is better than a real, proper and loyal friend.”

Shikamaru rolled his eyes. “Maybe not,” he sighed. “I’ll see you Monday, then.”

“Yeah!” Temari replies, far too eager. “See you Monday. And thanks again.”

“Don’t mention it.”

She didn’t watch him walk away, back towards the bar, that’d be too weird. She did, however, _imagine_  watching him walk away; the lazy shuffle he did when he seemingly had no real purpose or place to be going, the little wiggle of his butt that she’d noticed when he left her office that time. It was all stuff she wouldn’t ever admit to thinking, stuff that was so bloody inappropriate it shouldn’t even have crossed her mind for a millisecond. Yet as she took the last few strides toward her brothers table, it felt as if her eyes were in the back of her head.

“Tem?”

As if she opened her eyes, Temari jolted as Kankuro spoke, and quickly she placed their drinks down. “Yeah?”

“I asked if you’re alright? That guy was kinda weird.” The young man looked confused, and patted the seat next to him for her to take. She took the offer.

“That’s Shi—I mean, that’s chess match guy. The client who just didn’t come back.”

“Oh, _him_ ,” nodded Kankuro. He reached for the beer and took a sip. “He looked really…weak. I though you said he was about Gaara’s age.”

With a sigh, Temari nodded, and glanced over at the bar before setting eyes on her youngest brother in front of her. “He _is_. He’s older, actually, since Gaara isn’t _actually_  twenty-three yet.”

Kankuro let out a huge breath and shook his head, amazed. “You were right. He’s not alright. In that state, he looks like—”

“I know exactly who he looks like,” she snapped, taking a large swig of gin and tonic. “Hence I have to help him.”

“I understand now, too,” Gaara interrupted, biting on his lip. He looked saddest of all as he looked over to the bar, not even noticing the beer sat before him. “And you said his file was bare.”

“Stop,” Temari insisted. “I shouldn’t have even told you what I’ve told you. I’d be murdered if work knew I’d told you _anything_.”

Gaara nodded, smiling. “We understand, don’t worry. We’ve got your back—we always have.”

“One last comment from me before we can get shit-faced, if that’s okay?”

The pair turned to Kankuro, bemused, and Temari nodded with a slight smile. “Go ahead.”

“You _do_  have the hots for him.”

Gaara rolled his eyes.

“Gaara, don’t roll your eyes so much; you’ll look like Temari.”

Temari glared at her, necking back half of her drink.

“Don’t lie,” chuckled Kankuro. “You were blushing _a lot_.”

“Please stop, Kankuro. You’re not funny, and it’s totally inappropriate.”

The little brother smiled and wrapped his arm around his sister’s shoulders. “I won’t mention it again, Tem. Neither of us will. Now lets forget about everybody else and just drink, yeah? Let’s kick back.”

The irony being, in a booth across the pub sat a young man in a trench coat, sipping on his drink and rapidly texting his friend to ask where he was.

* * *

 

Shikamaru couldn’t help but stay. He hadn’t expected to; all he came for was to keep Chōji company on his first busy Friday night shift, but he found himself still sat at the bar as the click turned weekday into weekend, and he hadn’t known what hit him.

For hours he’d been sat, barely drinking and singularly listening to the cheerful laughter that grew louder with every group of people who left. What it was that she laughed at, he was unsure, and he wanted to turn many a time, but every moment that feeling washed over him, he grounded himself and flicked, up and down, the lid of his lighter.

He knew how it worked, he’d had therapists for years, and got through them like nobody’s business. Every single one had felt fruitless, and every single one he’d left feeling worse than when he began. But, at this point, there was was thing he knew well, and that was their conduct.

Many times he’d sat through the same rigmarole of, “I can’t tell anyone what you say unless you’re a danger to yourself or others—blah, blah, blah.” And every time what his said had gone nowhere, but neither had his illness. He was perfectly aware that his parents, who cared for him more than he cared to admit, paid by the hour for him to get better, and he had never got better.

At one point, he’d even tried, he was so desperate for it to be over and for them to stop having to fork out so much to maintain this way of life. At others, as much as he hated to think about it, he’d wanted it to be over in so many different ways. But, no matter what, it always went on.

Only two of his countless ‘ _advisors_ ’ had meant enough to him that he’d felt belief in what they were trying to achieve, and the first of those was the one that broke his faith in it all.

Shikamaru would never forget that, when he was almost nineteen, his current therapist had told him, as Temari had, that friends were almost as important as family. And, in the state he was in—so desperate to stop the hideous amounts of money leaving his parent’s pockets—he could so vividly remember asking to man, through tears he never thought he’d shed, if he would be his friend, once everything was fine and he was fixed.

The young man was met with silence and a solemn shake of the head, and immediately Shikamaru felt his worth plummet. In spite of everything, this helpful, friendly man would never be the friend Shikamaru wished he was, purely because of the way he was and his being weak.

His mother always told him off for calling himself weak, so he rarely did so anymore, but only a few months later, the same man Shikamaru had set apart and hoped to know forever was gone, unable to help him anymore. In that very moment he was beyond weak, and unable to deny it, despite his attempts to fein carelessness. It was tough.

But _this_  was tough in a completely different way.

He felt weak to her, and with each laugh, he slowly wore away. He _knew_  how it worked. He new being friends was taboo—he _knew_  he shouldn’t have even said a word to her, but he couldn’t help himself. All the sighs and eye-rolls in the world wouldn’t change the fact that, holy cow, that woman was beyond beautiful.

And all the seconds he spent wishing he could know her better wouldn’t change the fact he never could. Not here, never here—never outside of four licensed walls where one thing mattered.

The choice he had made _was_  the right one, he knew that. From one hour, although it had taken him a while of deliberation to conclude, he knew he’d found the person that understood him. Well, _would_. Just her brutal honesty and her blunt persona; it fit in exactly where he needed it to. She hadn’t forced him to speak like the others; she’d made it feel like he was destroying himself by not doing so, just with those big teal eyes.

Not to mention she was the first person to beat him at chess in over fourteen years…

Either he called her and repeated what happened four years ago, or he called her offices and helped himself. And while he sat here, listening to her rustle and cackle at her own dry wit, he was regretting the phone call he’d made.

No, he had made the right choice. He had to help himself. While it made him feel like the subject of cringeworthy teen movie, he knew he had to be happy in himself before he could begin to think about anything else…he’d learnt that much from 5 years of therapy, at least!

 _Besides_ , he thought, as he heard her laughter fade away as she stepped out onto the street, _I’ve always got Chōji._

He looked up and around at the empty bar, and silently cursed himself for staying so late. Then again, he had promised his friend that he’d support him, and given that this promised involved literally no work on his part, he had to see it through.

“Hey Chōj?”

The chubbier boy turned round, smiling gently. “Yeah, buddy?”

“I’m not sure I’m okay, you know.”

Chōji’s eyes dropped and he continued to wipe down the bar with a sigh. “I know, man. I know.”

“No, but really now.”

“I did say maybe you shouldn’t have had a pint. Your mum would kill me if she knew.”

Shikamaru shook his head, staring down at his hands. “It’s just I don’t think I actually realised that I could feel happier. Not properly happy. But I had this little glimpse of weight off my shoulders earlier, and it’s all I can think about now.” He sighed, swirling around the dregs of his pint. “All I can think about is that I don’t feel like that now, you know.”

“You should have a packet of crisps or something, man.”

“I’m not hungry, Chōji.”

“You sure? Cause it always lifts me up when I’ve got—”

“Seriously,” he interrupted, sharp and loud, lifting his head so smile. He didn’t want to seem malicious to his best friend. “Sorry, but no.”

Chōji couldn’t help but frown and shake his head. “Is it her? That woman you helped?”

“What?”

“I’m right, aren’t I? From how taken aback you are, I’m right.”

Shikamaru’s ears felt hot. “Nah, man. It’s not what you think,” he laughed, convincingly covering up his embarrassment with his dull tone, as he often did. “I mean, yes but not how you’re thinking.”

“So she’s not one to watch?”

More uncomfortable laughed came, accompanied by an eye roll. “She’s my new therapist. I was surprised to see her here.”

“She have a boyfriend?”

Shikamaru shrugged. “I dunno. There was a guy with brown hair who was staring at me funny at her table. She said he was her brother, and I don’t _think_  she was lying.” He yawner, rubbing his neck as his eyes fluttered shut. “But I really don’t know, man. Anyway, who cares?”

“Well, if it’s here that made you feel happy then maybe—”

“Chōji, she’s my therapist,” he chuckled. “Gage that for a second and realised how fucked up that would be.”

“Well, I don’t know—”

“God, you’re such a pain…”

“It’s not illegal, Shikamaru.”

“No, but it’s unethical. They’re forbidden to do it.”

Chōji groaned. “But what if she wasn’t treating you? And you were friends?”

“Still not allowed, I don’t think. From what I know, they’re pretty much forbidden for good in the eyes of others because of this…complex people develop.” Shikamaru rubbed his eyes. “It’s a bit heavy.”

“Oh, so you’ve looked into it,” teased Chōji.

“No, but I’ve had _many_  therapists, Chōji, one of which tried to sleep with me and another _killed_ himself, so…”

The other man slumped with a sigh. “I’m sorry, Shikamaru. I forgot.”

“It’s nothing. It’s fine.”

“But it isn’t, man. It isn’t fine.” Chōji came out from behind the bar and edged his way over. “So, she’s really not even allowed to be your friend?”

“No.” He could feel a prickle in his waterline. “But it’s _fine_ , Chōj.”

He shook his head. “I dunno. I don’t think that’s right. You said last week that she acted like she was your friend.”

“ _Acted_ ,” Shikamaru repeated, barely convincing himself. “That’s the key word here. She wasn’t even meant to talk to me here.”

“Right, but if she were to _actually_ be your friend that would be wrong?”

“Totally,” he replied. The sad soul sighed. “But I have friends. I have you. Therapists aren’t the same thing. If you’re friends were you therapist, there would be a shift.”

“A shift? Like it wouldn’t be the same?” Chōji motioned for Shikamaru to leave.

“What do I do with this glass, man?”

“Just bring it with you,” he chuckled.

Shikamaru followed slowly behind, biting on his lip. “It wouldn’t be the same at all. They can’t give proper advice and they’re not impartial.”

“But why can’t you be friends after treatment is over?”

“Because of that complex I mentioned.” Shikamaru stepped out of the door, immediately feeling the cold hit his cheeks, and with a shiver and let out a huge breathy sigh. “Basically—and they’ve studied for years so I reckon they’re right—while they treat us we develop this kind of…teacher or mentor view of them at the back of our minds. And it never goes away.”

“You’ve had one session.” The lights snapped off as Chōji hit switch, and the men shuffled out. “Surely if you stop now then there’s not a complex at all, and—”

“I’ve made my choice, Chōj.” Shikamaru closed his eyes. “I need to get better; I need to feel better. I don’t need her to be my friend.”

“But everyone needs to be lov—”

“Don’t.” He ran a hand over the back of his neck and whipped his phone from his pocket. “I’m gonna grab a cab from the end of the road. I’ll see you tomorrow, man.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((my psychologist boyfriend insists i credit him on the line ‘If ghosting your psychiatrist was a thing, then that’s precisely what you did.’ He also says ‘You’re welcome for the angst that will ensue given how obsessed with accuracy I am.’ Yay angst..?))


	6. Re-Wiring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's back in the office, but this time his will isn't quite as fiery.

When Monday finally rolled around, and two-fifteen was looming, Temari sat, twiddling her thumbs as she waited, really rather impatiently. While she was never massively punctual herself, never early for anything by choice, she always was a stickler for punctuality in others, and this extra fifteen minutes was beginning to make her chest burn.

“Come on,” she muttered to herself, aware that the man would be paying for a full hour and not receiving it, and even more aware that nobody was going to compensate him for that. “I haven’t got all day.”

When her legs began to fidget and twitch, she had to no choice but to jump up and grab the chess board from its home, and throw it down on the table they’d played on before with such haste she worried it was broken.

Carefully, she sat down, in a new spot, and began to place each piece, perfectly in the centre of each square, content with this way of busying her mind, until a gentle knock sounded, and the door creaked open.

“Hey.”

Temari looked up, and immediately had to hold back a smile. “Oh, hello,” she mumbled, biting on her lip. “Come on in.”

“I know I’m late.” Shikamaru let out a big sigh and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. “I had to come straight from work. Hence the _ghastly_  shirt.”

He gestured, with a highly disapproving glare at the floral pink shirt he donned underneath a simple black hoodie. While Temari had to admit she liked the shirt, and she knew many men who’d suit it, Shikamaru certainly did not. Without her even listening to him or seeing the embroidery that donned the back of it, Temari new it had to be an issued uniform. She screwed up her features slightly, wondering what kind of place would issue such a shirt.

“Is it fancy restaurant you work at?” she giggled, settling on a hunch. “I assume, anyway. Then again, the jeans are telling me, maybe not.”

“A flower shop.” Shikamaru slumped down into the leather chair in front of her, and threw off his hoodie. “Sorry, Sherlock Holmes, but your detective skills aren’t quite up to scratch.”

Temari raised her eyebrows. “Wouldn’t have seen that coming, given your…um…”

“Demeanour. Yeah, I get that.” He rested back, hands behind his head. “If you’re interesting in coming then it’s the—”

“No, no! You can’t tell me that.”

“I’ve told others where I work and I was—”

“Well, _I_  say no.”

_Plus, I don’t want to be tempted to go and see you._

Shikamaru shrugged, letting out a huge sigh as he learnt toward the board. “I see you set up.”

“And it’s still your turn to keep on talking until you beat me.”

“What? No, it isn’t. I _definitely_  beat you.”

“You never did,” Temari sneered, secretly worried that she was wrong, and it was in fact his turn.

“I did.” He groaned and slouched back again. “Check your notes.”

She blushed. “I didn’t take any,” she admitted. “I was too invested in playing.”

“Well, that’s a drag.” Shikamaru rolled his eyes and made the first move. “Fine. Am I still on about my childhood?”

“No, I had the choice of an extra question. Which I _definitely_  didn’t get the chance to ask, whether you beat me or not.”

Another groan. “Oh God, what’s that then?”

“Do you have siblings?” Temari edged her first pawn towards him. “It’s just that you seem like an only child.”

“Well,” he laughed, “no, I don’t. I _am_  an only child.”

“I knew it!”

“Well done, Sherlock.” His voice was riddled with sarcasm. “Now that was an easy question. My turn.”

“I don’t think so,” insisted Temari. “You haven’t beaten me yet.”

“But you haven’t—”

“Nope. You answer me until you win, Shikamaru.”

Shikamaru’s face fell, every ounce of smugness disappeared. He slouched forward and stared at her. “Go on then.”

“Tell me more about school, I suppose.”

“My favourite teacher was my math teacher,” he reiterated, falling back on last session’s content. Temari knew the trick, to avoid progression and talking properly, but she didn’t stop him as their game continued; a backdrop to their conversation. “As I told you, I never really felt like doing much. I’m not particularly invested in _anything_ , but he made me love math. He played me at chess, and I always beat him, and he always told me I was his best pupil. The only thing I _ever_  aspired to was to be a teacher, like him. To inspire someone like he did.”

“You told me about him already, Shikamaru.” Her voice was firm, but accompanied by a kind smile.

“Yeah, well, he was the only good thing about school.”

“Not your friends?”

He laughed. “I don’t really have many friends, love.”

“I’m sure you do. You were friends with the barman.”

His eyebrows raised. “You’re not allowed to do that, are you?”

“Do what?”

“Talk about you seeing me outside of sessions.”

“Don’t make it sound like something it isn’t, Shikamaru.”

“I didn’t mean to. I just…” Shikamaru rubbed his neck and bit down on his lip. “Well, yes, he is my friend.”

“And I’m _sure_  you’ve got others.”

“Not really. I’ve always hung around with the same people.”

“But?”

“But I only ever liked Chōji.”

She nodded, focussing on her next move.

“I told you my dad was in the military, didn’t I? Well he worked alongside these two guys, and they were like uncles to me. You know the type.”

She didn’t, her father didn’t have ‘friends’ as such, but she nodded anyway.

“So I saw them and their kids all the time, to the point that we were just kinda a group. Not by choice, or at least not by our choice.”

“But you like this guy right?”

The nod that followed was brimming with enthusiasm. “Oh, yeah. He’s great. He gets me. It’s the other one that’s such a pain.”

“What’s he like?”

“What’s _she_  like, you mean.” Shikamaru’s eyes rolled. “She’s not even _that bad_ , I just get so sick of her. It’s her mums shop I work at. She works there too, ya know, family business and everything. But she just doesn’t stop. She goes on about this guy or that guy or whatever, as if I give a damn.”

“She’s probably trying to make you jealous.”

“Yeah, Chōji says that but, I don’t know.” He paused, moved his rook, then made eye contact once more. “If she is, she’s not doing a good job. I feel _sorry_  for all the guys she’s been with.”

Temari couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re a bit like my brother, you know. He can get anyone he wants, but he always just settles. He goes and talks to the same types of people and then—”

The young man looked impossibly embarrassed, and motioned his hand as though to cut off his head. “Oh, no! I’m not with her!”

“Oh, I know,” she laughed, “but—”

“No, you don’t get it. I don’t settle for _anyone_ ,” he insisted. “I’d rather just have nobody, love.”

“Shikamaru, everybody needs—“

“I’ve got Chōji and I’ve got my parents. I’ve even got Ino if I’m really pushing it. And while they can be a pain in the ass, they’re all I need.”

Temari couldn’t help her cynicism. “My brother is the opposite. He needs constant affection. I can’t counsel him, obviously, but his behaviour is almost as dangerous as the way you act. He might be too reliant on others, but you’re too self reliant.”

“Heard that one before.”

“That’s because it’s true, Shikamaru. While it’s good to process things yourself, it’s important to have others to lean on, too. Hence why friends are important.”

“Or _you_.”

She gulped. “Or me, yes. But I don’t have the same comforting affect as a friend or loved one, Shikamaru.”

He was clearly uncomfortable with what she had said. “Look, just make your next move please.”

“Above all else, you’re paying for me to help you. You told me you want to get better. And for me to help you do that, I need you to listen to me.”

A lifeless nod followed as he impatiently stared at the board. “I have Chōji for that. He listens.”

“And your other friend?”

“Ino wouldn’t let me get a word in, even if I wanted to. But that’s fine. Like I said. _I have Chōji_.”

Temari sighed, taking her next move. “What about Chōji makes you feel better?”

“I don’t know if it makes me feel _better_ ,” he groaned. “He’s just someone who doesn’t need to care about me, but he does anyway.”

“And does that comfort you?”

Shikamaru tried his best not to glare as he picked up his queen, frustrated by hearing the same sentence for the thousandth time. But his answer this time, was different to the many previous attempts at answering this question. This time, he was honest. “Yes,” he admitted. “But it’s never enough.”

“Well, then we’ve got to figure out why not.”

“Because he’s the _only_  one.” He smashed down the piece in his hand and slouched back. “That was embarrassingly quick. Check mate.” He smirked. “So, I know _you_  aren’t an only child.”

_You’re a dick._

“Obviously.” Temari started to rearrange the board. “Two little brothers. I already told you that. No more answers.”

“But I didn’t ask you a question. My question is what they’re like.”

Temari sat and questioned if it was something she should answer. The more she thought about it, this hour was to unearth his problems and feelings, not talk about her family. He’d told her, hadn’t he, Friday night as he helped her carry her drinks, that he was coming back because he thought she could be the one to help him, the one to make him feel better. Yet here they were, talking in almost equal measure about themselves. This just wasn’t how it was meant to play out, was it?

Then again, she had to admit, she wasn’t going to stop any time soon. He was comfortable like this. With a little bit of kind pressure, she had finally got something out of him about how he felt about his friends, and why he thought his best friend helped him. That was a start, no matter how small a start. If this was the dynamic he liked, this is the way it would stay.

“I won’t tell you their names, I want to respect their privacy. But okay.” She sighed, sending him a mild grimace. “The first one, the middle child is the one I _wrongly_  compared you to; he’s a bit of a twat, he always steals my stuff, and he’s got an intense need for attention all the time. He’s had so many girls come back to the house I’ve lost count, and he’s never done anything bad to them, he’s just…weird. He’s the one of us who is most like Dad was, too. He’s really blunt and always took the piss out of me and my youngest brother. A complete and total pain in the ass.”

“But?”

Temari smiles. “But he’s my little brother. Typical answer, but really. I hate him, he still acts like we’re teenagers, but I love him. When our mum died, I was the only one who could almost comprehend it. Don’t get me wrong, I was still three and wasn’t sure what was going on, but I knew she was gone. I don’t know if I knew she wouldn’t come back, but apparently I never asked.”

Shikamaru gulped. He had noticed that the answers Temari had to his questions outshone his answers by a mile, both in thoroughness and intrigue. He almost struggled to listen, as it itched something deep in his chest, but couldn’t help being interested.

Temari shut her eyes. “Ka—I mean, my little brother was two, and he wasn’t particularly bright, but he knew there was something missing. He could just about speak, and he’d say, ‘Where Mummy?’ a dozen times a day, Dad said. Personally I don’t remember, but I know I wouldn’t have coped as well further down the line if it weren’t for him, and the fact we went through losing her together.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Shikamaru, I’ve said before that you don’t need to apologise. I don’t need your you to say anything. It was twenty-three years ago yesterday, actually. It’s okay.”

He knew she meant it to be reassuring that she was okay, but how close it was to the anniversary made him frown. With everything in him, he felt for her. He’d never lost someone so important to him, and frankly he couldn’t imagine it. Careful not to give her a look of pity, Shikamaru nodded solemnly. “Okay,” he mumbled. “You don’t have to talk about your other brother. I’ve got another question.”

“Well, I—”

“I want to know why you help people.”

Temari frowned. “Well, um, it’s my _job_  to help people…”

“You don’t get what I mean.” He rolled his eyes, and didn’t take his next move. Instead, he focussed on his thumbs as he twiddled them. “I mean _why_. What made you think that this, sitting in here with people, was what you wanted to do with your life?”

“I wanted to make a difference to someone’s life, that’s all.”

He tutted. “You’re still not seeing it. _Why_? Everyone says they want to make a difference to someone’s life—hell, I wanted to. The interesting bit of that is what made you decide that you were going to do it _that particular way_.”

With a sigh, Temari closed her eyes.

“I’m sorry. Is it about your mother again?”

She shook her head. “Not really. Just, um…” She reached and thrusted the nearly bowl of toffees into his personal space. “Have one.”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“And you’re meant to be the one talking in the first place, so shut up and eat the toffee.”

Shikamaru rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m alright, thanks.”

“You sure? It’s just free toffee; no truth serum or anything.”

He merely shook his head. “I’d really rather not.”

 _Wow_ , she thought. _First person to turn it down._

“Look, if you’re that uncomfortable,” he sighed, “you don’t have to tell me. If you _really_  want we can even drop this tit-for-tat format.”

“No!” She jumped in, quickly insisting. “No, because then the dynamic changes. If this is a dynamic you’re comfortable with then—“

“I don’t really care about _the_ _dynamic_. I’m just interested.” A sublte blush crept up onto his cheekbones.

Temari sighed, leaning back. “You really want to know?”

Slowly, he nodded, giving her a gentle smile. It made her head go slightly light, but she forced herself to go straight, shutting her eyes and taking a deep breath.

“Okay,” she began, “it starts with my little brother.”

“The one you just—”

“No, no. The other one. The littlest one. He’s always been the smartest of the three of us, and for so long he was the quietest. He’d take all the shit our brother gave him, he’d never argue, he’d never fight back. The whole time he was at school, he’d be bullied because of how small he was, and kids thought he was weird because he barely spoke.” She shook her head. “But he _wasn’t_  weird. It took even me and my brother years to see he wasn’t weird. He felt guilty, and it left him permanently sad. He never fought back to Ka—sorry, our brother, or denied what I asked him to do, because he felt he owed us.”

“Because him existing took your mother away from you…”

Temari nodded, keeping her eyes firmly shut. “I saw him struggle for years; mope and grow weaker by the day. It got even worse after Dad passed away. As soon as I realised, it was obvious how depressed he was, and I couldn’t ignore it. My brother and I saved all our money from our part-time jobs and with a little help from our godfather we took him to see someone. Someone who could help him. It took a while, but with help from that person, and with the support of us, he eventually got better.” She trailed off, rubbing her clammy hands on her thighs. “I want to do for someone, as many people as I can, what that person did for Gaara.”

Shikamaru jolted. “ _Gaara_?”

Her eyes flew open. “Shit. Oh, fuck. No, please forget I said his name. Oh, crap.”

“You didn’t mean to do that.”

“ _Obviously_ I didn’t! Please ignore it.” She grumbled to herself. “It’s hardly like you’ve met many Gaara’s or Kankuro’s is it?”

“I’ve never met a Gaara, I must say.” He rubbed his neck and leant forward, reaching out to the table and finally making a move. “But I do know a _Kankuro_. He works in the carpenters up the road from the flower shop. Always in the damn bakery.”

Temari frowned. “Oh, well shit. That is one-hundred-percent my brother. Shit…” The blonde reached over and picked up her first pawn. “He didn’t recognise you in the pub.”

“Oh, he won’t. I’ve never met him. Just see him and hear the girls in the bakery talk to him.”

“Sounds about right.”

Shikamaru smiles. “Your other brother, though…is he alright now?”

“Yes, thank you.” Temari nodded, smiling back with bright red cheeks. “He’s been particularly well the past couple of years. Finally, actually happy. It’s brilliant to see.”

“God,” sighed the young man. He turned and stared over toward the window. “I wish it could be like that for everyone.”

“He went through what you are, Shikamaru. He saw someone almost every week for nearly eight years.”

“I’m on my sixth year, and I don’t feel at all better.”

She couldn’t stop the feeling of sadness that washed over her as he spoke.

“And what’s worse, you know,” he added, “is that I don’t have any reason to be this way. Your brother—he had a reason. There was a correlation of events that made him feel responsible for a terrible thing, and people shitting on him and making him feel small. I’ve had none of that!”

“You have a reason, I’m sure. It’ll take some looking for but you’ll have one.”

“But I’ve never been bullied, and I didn’t have a bad childhood. My parents are nice—highly expectant and irritating, but nice, and I’ve always had at least one friend. They’re all _alive_ , too! And yet I’m constantly unhappy!”

“Shikamaru—”

“I have no reason to feel like this. And others have told me that’s okay, some people are just ‘wired that way’, but how does that make it okay? I don’t want to be wired that way! Why couldn’t someone _else_  be ‘wired’ this way instead of me? If I’m fucking ‘ _wired_ ’ this way then how is anyone going to fix me?!”

Temari was frozen for a moment. Each breath he took in came faster than the last, and took no time in overwhelming him. It was as though as he was trapped in a box, with the tiniest tube of oxygen filtering in, and he had to work so hard to breathe that it was hurting him. She could see the terror in his eyes before he hung his head low, and she’d seen it a thousand times in Gaara’s—that overwhelming feeling of despair, accompanied by the heavy weight of feeling everything and nothing all at once spread across his shoulders.

But it was so different to how Gaara used to look. Shikamary was far, _far_  more desperate. Something in those dark eyes was so captivating, so alone and in need, that all Temari wanted to do was reach out and hold him. She wanted to stop whatever disaster he was envisioning behind the surface of that expression; she wanted to end the suffering it brought with it.

Slowly and softly, she reached over the desk and brushed of the back of her hand on his: grabbing his attention, forcing him to listen to her. “How do you fix a computer?”

Shikamaru slowly raised is head. Staring at her, and surprisingly making no effort to move her hand, he frowned. “What?”

“How do you fix a computer, or a TV or radio? Any type of electrical equipment how do you fix it?”

He shrugged.

“You rewire it, don’t you? I watched Kankuro deconstruct and rebuild his computer back when we were younger, and I watched him rewire it many more time. It was a hobby of his.” She turned her hand over, gently gripping his knuckles in her palm. “But _we_ —we’re going to rewire _you_. If that’s what the problem is, if it really is how you’ve always thought, and we’ll change it. We won’t change a thing about everything else that akes you you, but we’ll work to change how you process things, and how you respond. We’re going to make you better, Shikamaru Nara. Okay?”

She smiled, gently stroking the back of his hand with her thumb.

“I don’t believe you,” he mumbled.

“Wow. Thanks for the confidence—”

“But, you are the most convincing one yet.”

His sad smile captivated her, and made her feel as though she’d never be able to let go of the hand beneath hers. It felt as though, in that moment she’d been bound to him—as though it was her one purpose at this point in her life to help this one young man. And, regrettably, she was excited about the thought.


	7. His File

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shikamaru tells her what is intentionally missing from the file his mother gave her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is a warning that this chapter contains referenced suicide and suicidal thoughts quite heavily. Nothing explicit is mentioned, however I'm very aware that many people feel uncomfortable with that all the same, so for them I leave here a warning.
> 
> This is one of the only few chapters that will directly confront suicide, but others will mention it as it is integral to the character arc and backstory. I’m sorry if this is distressing for you, and if it is 1) I’m very sorry, and 2) I suggest you maybe steer clear from this chapter.
> 
> I hope everyone is okay - much love to you all!

She took some solace in the thought she’d instilled a little hope into the troubled soul that sat before her, and while she had no idea the root of the evil that he dwelled upon, she wholeheartedly believed that if they worked, they could do it; fix him. It didn’t matter who he was or where he’d come from, or even whether he’d gone out of his way to piss her off two weeks ago, he was a human being, and a kind one at that. Irritating or not, that was all she needed to know how important this was.

For a moment she’d let her mind wander as she stared at him, agape, but as she felt slightly rougher skin absentmindedly trace across the back of her hand, she remembered that she’d never actually let go. And now, embarrassed as she was to have onto the comforting gesture far too long, it wasn’t nearly as intense a feeling as the conflicting she felt when it dawned on her that the thumb that was mindlessly caressing her hand, hand broken free from her grip to do so. One of his hands, colder and bonier than hers, sat atop Temari’s own, resting. Why exactly this change had come she was unsure, but she wasn’t nearly as bothered about that as she should’ve been.

“So,” she started, changing the heavy subject slightly, “you said you wanted to be a teacher, but since you’re wearing wacky shirts and selling flowers all day, so…” She cleared her throat, covering her mouth with her one spare hand, anxious to move the other from him. “I guess what I’m asking is why you didn’t go for it and become one.”

Shikamaru, with his eyes firmly shut, ran his thumb across her knuckles, tucked away in his own little world for a moment. He let out a soft chuckle. “It isn’t your turn to ask questions yet.”

A shiver flew across her shoulders. It was so haunting to watch him; so captivating yet so numbing. He instilled in Temari a feeling she’d never known before, and with everything in her she couldn’t decide if she actually _liked_  him or not. It certainly wasn’t like her friends, for starters—while they could infuriate her, as he often did in such a short space of time, they never made her want to punch them in the face; something he had caused her to feel a couple of times now.

But Shikamaru? She went through minute long periods of loathing him, followed immediately by periods of pure fascination, then from wanting to smack him upside the head to wanting to throw her arms around him and not let go.

She felt _sorry_  for so many of her clients—it was a given whens he knew they’d all suffered, one way or another—but Shikamaru made her feel different. It wasn’t _sorry_ , as such, with him. More than anything, Temari empathised with him, even though she knew so little of him and his life.

Although she’d had her brothers for company always, she, too, had few friends growing up. She’d felt small and as though she was the only person she could trust on _many_  an occasion. Temari couldn’t relate to many of the people who stepped into that room, but what she knew of him, she could personally understand, and it was enough for her to feel some sort of connection to him.

In him she somewhat saw her little brother, Gaara, and all of his struggles, and at first she’d wondered if that’s how it was: a brotherly feeling. But then, all she had to do was think of Kankuro—yes, she hated him and went through periods of wanting to punch him, or even going ahead and doing it, but she loved him for the sake of it. She was in no way bound to Shikamaru, and yet she felt stronger for him after two hours of conversation than she felt for her brothers. No, no—not stronger. That wasn’t right. Just differently. _So freaking differently._

No, he _shone_ —he stuck out in a very different way. She felt herself drawn to him in a foreign way, into his eyes and the smile that flashed like a shooting star every once in a while. It was so unprofessional, and in the moment it hit her she knew what she ought to have done: got up and told him to go and see somebody else—the man in the office next door or, if that was still too close to her, another practice…

But she couldn’t. her hand was too glued to his, too happily sat resting there, and her warmth too balanced by his cooling touch.

No, there was no chance in hell she was letting him go. She had been told, been _trained_ , to set aside her emotions so they wouldn’t interfere, and that was just something she would have to do if it meant he got to stay. But she wouldn’t, not under any circumstances, give up the greatest joy of her career so far, the most intriguing and important patient to her, if she could set aside those emotions.

 _Yeah, fuck professionalism,_  she concluded, staring straight ahead at the man. _If I can help him feel better, that’s better than nothing, and it’s better than shovelling him off onto someone else to make him more unhappy._

“It isn’t my turn,” she agreed after a long pause. “But, humour me. I’m interested.”

Finally, his eyes fluttered open, settling on the bundle of hands in his lap. As he forced himself to move them, so slowly, it felt to him like ripping a plaster that had glued to his skin. “I didn’t ‘go for it’ because I never got the qualifications, that’s all.”

“Why not?” She retracted her hand and, flushing red, fumbled behind her for her notepad. “You’re clearly really smart. Surely you passed  everything. Surely you could’ve got into university.” She rolled her eyes with a slight smile. “Or did you not try?”

He chuckled. “I did,  in the end, _enough_. I passed. I was ready to go—I _did_  go—it’s just the actual _degree_  bit never came to pass, you know.”

“What? Why not?”

“I did go to uni,” he sighed. “I went for a week and a half, and then, since it was September and it was my birthday, and I went back home to see my parents and Chōji. They wanted me to.”

Temari nodded, tapping her fingers on her notepad and finally hoisting it into her lap. “Okay.”

“When I got there and had been welcomed and all that jazz, I went out for a smoke and my Dad followed me.” His gaze lifted and set on Temari, finally. As cold and dark as he felt in his head at that moment, the determination in her eyes made it feel a tiny bit brighter. “Anyway, he _hates_  that I smoke—even though my mum’s told me he used to before I was born, and frequently has the odd one nowadays—so, despite his insane hypocrisy, he always looms when I do, knowing it’ll make me finish my cigarette as quick as possible.

“You see, usually he’ll say _something_  about my smoking—Nara’s are the definition passive aggressive when we’re pissed off,” he chuckled, raising his eyebrows, but he didn’t seem to find his own comment funny. “Yeah, I was just sat on the doorstep and he stood in front of me, staring at the sky, and I knew he was going to give me a talk. Like, a _proper_  talk.

“He said, ‘You know, Shikamaru, for six generations, Nara men have joined the forces. In some way, shape or form, they’ve contributed—they’ve helped. But you,’ he told me. ‘You’re sitting there doing calculations. Quite the shift, eh? Who’d have thought it?’ Then, as expected, he told me I should quit smoking, but it didn’t matter. I could see his point; the damage was done.” Shikamaru sighed and rubbed his eyes, desperately trying to stop the itching behind them; not allowing Temari to see how he truly felt as the memory surfaced. “I’d let him down. By wanting to be an academic, I’d done the opposite of what I was suppose to do. I’d stopped this inter-generational pattern, and even somewhere in _me_  that was upsetting. I couldn’t imagine how it felt to him.”

“So you just gave up?”

He nodded. “I gave up. Or gave in, at least. I quit smoking and enlisted, like I thought I should’ve, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t stomach it, so after a week I ran; I came home, bought packet upon packet of cigarettes, and cried my eyes out.” His Adam’s apple shifted as he gulped. “So I started working in the flower shop, so I didn’t feel like a waster.”

Temari was blown away by the way he spoke. His voice, while so calm and consistent for the most part, was a complete mismatch for the look on his face. She could tell how desperately the man was trying to hide his feelings; disappointment, shame or whatever destructive feelings they were, but she could see his eyes. Rubbing them didn’t change anything; it didn’t take away the soul behind them that was hungry for something better—desperate not to feel like he did in that moment.

“Don’t be embarrassed for being scared,” she mumbled, fully aware the pressure of her notepad brought to some people and placing it down. “ _Everyone_  gets scared.”

“I wasn’t scared I just didn’t want to hurt anyone. I didn’t want to hurt, or even save. I don’t want to be anyone’s hero, you know? All I wanted to do was help out kids; especially kids like I was, ones who struggle to connect with things.” Shikamaru tapped his knee before, at long last, letting his knight hop over the pawns in front of it. “But enlisting…it just made me sad.”

Temari reached out to the chess board and made her next move. “You should just go back and get your degree Shikamaru; nobody’s stopping you, and it’s _your_  choice.”

“I know that,” he sighed. “I mean, what’s especially shit is that Dad didn’t actually care. He was impressed that was at uni, he just had a dumb way of showing it. And so now I know I’ve thrown that away because I couldn’t properly interpret one conversation.” A loud groan erupted from him. “Fat lot of good an IQ over two-hundred is, eh?”

Her eyes widened at the number, but she tried her best to stay on topic. “You might’ve known if—“

“If Id talked to my mum. Yeah I know.” His shoulders drooped. “But I’m not good at that. I’d rather just stick with the way things are.”

“But things can get better if they change.”

He didn’t respond, instead taking to his feet. Sluggishly he fumbled over towards the one window her office provided, his hands lifelessly hanging in the pockets of his jeans. The shuffling of his boots across the floor was driving Temari mad—how many damn pairs of boots did he get through a year walking like _that_?—but she couldn’t take her eyes off him.

From behind, with light flooding from the windows and creating his silhouette, he looked like something from a movie scene. Not the fancy man walks into the bar kind of movie scene—Temari wasn’t that deluded by his mere presence, yet—more the, see a shadowy figure sipping whiskey in the corner up against the wall kind of movie scene. Despite the way she’d seen him break his veil of cool, it would be a lie to call it a rouse. Shikamaru certainly _was_  cool, and he seemed to realise that to some vague extent, too.

But he didn’t. Even further than that, he didn’t care. As he dragged his feet across the wood, his eyes set on the sky like a predator to it’s prey. Envy rushed through his veins and sent tingles up the back of his neck, feeding his brain with exactly what it didn’t need. However, as much as he tried to stop it, he couldn’t stop staring up, and as his shoulder collided with the wall and his leaning began, he couldn’t help but think aloud.

“You know, I was telling Chōji the other day about how great it would be…”

“To be a teacher?”

“No,” he batted back, blunt and simple. “How great it would be to be a _cloud_. Clouds don’t have responsibilities. Clouds just float along, going with it all, and then they just get to disappear into the atmosphere, forgotten.”

Temari found herself growing hot, and her palms becoming clammy again.“You don’t want to disappear and be forgotten, Shikamaru. Trust me.”

“Chōji said something similar. You two would get on.” He paused for a moment, and started to run his fingers along the window. “Actually, I’m not sure. You might think he was a pain. He kinda is. He’s not as us. He’s with it and his heart is so big, yeah, but he can just _ramble_  on and on…”

“Shikamaru—“

“Anyway, if I were a cloud, I wouldn’t have to work, or even have a brain.” He chuckled. “And nobody would care what I was doing of if I was aliv—“

“How on _earth_  do you do that?” Her voice was growing angry, and she hauled herself to her feet, adjusting her blouse.

“Do what?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know, buddy,” she snapped. “You talk constantly, and almost passionately, too, but you don’t care. You don’t put any effort into it, and yet you thwart what I’m saying.”

His eyes stayed glued to the blue sky outside. “I don’t ‘not care’ I just…well it’s hardly _riveting_  conversation, is it?”

He didn’t have to turn. The gentle tap of her boots across the floor were warning enough that she was sneaking up behind him. It almost made him turn, but where he was leaning provided something stable. He needed stability, not shaky legs.

“Shikamaru, what you’re saying is _worrying_.” Temari’s voice was low and calm. “Come on, please sit down again.”

He stayed put. “I’m alright thanks. We can talk like this.”

“Stop being difficult.”

He chuckled. “I’m not. You’re just not handling it properly.”

“I want to punch you in the face, you know that?” She had laugh to stop herself balling her fists. “I want to help you more than I want to do _that_ , but gee, you can be an ass.”

“You barely know me, yet.”

She blushed. “And I’m almost grateful for that. Come on, please. Sit down and stop saying you want to float away and disappear from everyone’s lives.”

“Tell me something,” he muttered, out of the blue. “What did my file say?”

Temari froze. “I’m sorry?”

“I want to know what she put in there.” His shoulders fell as he began itching the back of his neck. “I want to know if she had the stomach to say it.”

“To say what?”

Shikamaru shook his head at first, but began nodding slowly, continuing as if she didn’t exist, which of course drove her insane. “Nah, she won’t have. She _hates_  to admit it to _anyone_.”

“I’m sorry, Shikamaru,” Temari interrupted with a heavy groan. “I’m not following you.”

“Word for word, what does it say? Look for me.”

She frowned.

Finally he looked her in the eye, false smile plastered and eyebrows raised expectantly. It was as if he was trying, once again, to rile her up. “Please,” he sighed.

“I don’t need to look, it’s not extensive.” Temari crossed her arms, unamused but undoubtedly interested. “It just said ‘highly depressed and will not take medication’.”

He nodded slowly. “As expected.”

“What?”

In the exact way Temari hated most, the young man turn around and blanked her again, picking mindlessly at the chipped paint on he windowsill. “I wanna go on the record that I have no _problem_  with taking medication. I’m just not _allowed_. She won’t say it to any of you guys, but I’m not…trusted with it anymore.”

Temari knew instantly what was coming next, and she didn’t want to ask. Despite her job and her desire to help him, she couldn’t help but feel unprepared to tackle this. So she simply let her silence do the talking and fell back into her chair, knees so weak with the shakes she could barely stand.

“Three times.” His eyes squeezed shut. “Three times…”

“I’m so—“

“No, I wasn’t allowed to be sorry about your mother. You’re not allowed to apologise for something that’s my fault.”

“But it isn’t!” she insisted, thoroughly upset and trying her best to hold back. “Don’t say that. You _know_  it isn’t, really.”

“Three times. It’s just the fact that the first failed go wasn’t enough to stop me trying the exact same thing a second time.” She could see him pulling at his own hair. “And then a third. Somewhere along the lines my will just gave in, to the point that my natural instinct that’s whole purpose is to make me want to live fucked me over.” Shikamaru bit down on his lip and finally turned to face her again, it quivering between his teeth before he spoke. “I was meant to die, Temari. For twenty seconds body almost let me go.”

Temari couldn’t help how she felt in that moment. It took every ounce of her being not to let the flood gates open and rush down her cheeks, and each syllable she tried to voice got hitched in her throat as she struggled for the right ones. But more than the sadness, more than the confusion, she felt disappointed in herself. It wasn’t just how unprepared she was for this moment, but the fact she felt uncomfortable—something that she knew was so unnecessary. She’d felt the same with Gaara back then, knowing he was suffering but herself feeling discomfort both in knowing that, _and_  in thinking about such ordeals.

It was her job, she knew that, and she had to pull herself together. But she couldn’t lie, she knew that one thing right now.

Before she even opened her mouth, she stood up and edged closer to him , trying her best to ignore the whirlwind in her head, and the storm surely inside of his. Finally, once again, she reached out to him.

Carefully she threaded her fingers underneath his, drawing him away from the peeling pain and holding his hand tightly. “I’m going to be really honest with you, because I haven’t had to do this for real before, and I’m scared. Not of you,” she clarified, “don’t ever think I mean _of_  you. I’m just scared of being insensitive, accidentally.”

Shikamaru turned to her, eyes brimming with tears and forced a smile. “I get it. No big deal.”

“It is, Shikamaru,” she forced out, though her throat was almost closed as she fought back tears.

“So I’m your ‘suicide guinea pig’?”

Temari felt her knees go weak and her stomach churn, and she squeezed his hand so tight. “No, don’t say that. Please, please don’t _freaking_  say that.”

“Why? I don’t care that it’s true. I’m your first patient like this, right?”

Weakly, she nodded. This was the first time she’d felt so insignificant in this room; and the first time she’d start to discover  the real extent of his pain. “You’re so casual about it, I don’t…I just don’t…”

“I can imagine it’s unsettling,” he whimpered. “Listen, I don’t mean to sound so blunt and I don’t mean to sound so careless. It’s just hard to think about it in any way other than from a distance. I try to talk about it as if it wasn’t me. It makes me feel like it isn’t my problem.” His hand squeezed hers back for a second. “But I can’t do that here, and bluntly is the only way I can do it.”

“Well, I don’t want to dwell on it, either,” she began. “The action itself needn’t be mentioned in this room more than in passing, okay? What we need to talk about it why you felt the desire or the need to and uncover what that is that caused that. Because finding the root of it all and tackling it will help you get better. But before that, I need to know two things. Just quick.”

Silently he nodded.

“I assume you, um…”

He coughed, uncomfortable. “Overdosed, yeah.”

Her gut wrenched. “And when…”

“Eighteen, twenty-one, twenty-two.”

Temari had to stop herself pulling him into her arms, but she pushed it down and tried to be professional. “There could be many things going on, but I’ve got two main ideas. It might be that your brain produces less serotonin than average and so your emotions are constantly unbalanced. That would need to be combatted in such ways as with external joys, and methods to cope with…” She took a deep breath. “With those overwhelming feelings of depression, given that you aren’t going to be able to have antidepressants.

“However, it could always be the case that you _aren’t_  ‘ _wired_ ’, as you said, in a certain way, but rather you’ve habitually got into a destructive thinking pattern over time.” Temari regretfully let go of his hand and rested her palm on his back, looking up into his dark eyes. “Either way, Shikamaru, I won’t let you feel that way again.”

“You definitely know what you’re talking about, don’t you?” He smiled, genuinely this time, and Temari felt warmth flutter through her body. “But nobody else spotted any destructive ways of thinking.”

“Have faith, Shikamaru,” she mumbled. “Just have faith in me, okay?”


	8. The Guy From The Carpenter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While running an errand, Shikamaru unwillingly bumps into someone who he would rather not have met. Shikaku tries to cheer up and support his son.

“Why would anybody need seven, so bloody specific, bunches of flowers?” Shikamaru groaned. With his body weight hard against a pillar, he gazed down at the written note in his hands. “‘Four white roses, four purple chrysanthemums, two irises and two sprigs of’…” He snorted. “Two sprigs of ‘the little tiny white ones that you always put in, please’. Why?”

Ino Yamanaka shook her head, smiling as she tied a ribbon around the stems of yet another bouquet. “Shikamaru, it’s a wedding order. You seriously don’t understand, do you?”

He shook his head. “Obviously not.”

“Just hold this.”

She thrust her newly finished bunch of flowers into his arms and he sighed, his eyes following her as she strode across the room. “You’re going to make them. I’m not doing it.”

“Christ, for someone who works in a florist, you don’t have much enthusiasm for flowers, do you?”

The young man let out a huge sigh and threw his head back. “And _you_   _definitely_ work here because of your adoration for floral arrangements, yeah?”

Her head turned quickly, and her long ponytail whipped round. “Shut up. There’s nobody on the shop floor. Go downstairs.”

“Fine.” He went to put down the flowers in his hand, when he caught the frustrated glare she shot his way. “Now what, Ino?”

“I told you to hold them because I want you to take them downstairs!”

Shikamaru felt his shoulders tighten as his eyes fell shut. “Then just give _that_  instruction…man, you’re such a pain.”

“Oh, yeah,” she snapped back. “Such a pain. I’m a total ‘ _drag_ ’, right? You’re the one who was late this morning, Shikamaru.”

“I was late because I had an appointment.”

“You had an appointment _yesterday_ , don’t lie to me.”

He started to shuffle towards the stairs that lead down to the shop floor, weaving through boxes of weird porous foam he didn’t care for and decorative ribbon. “Okay, Ino,” he replied, careless and tired as his feet touched the first step. “I’m going down. Shout me if you need me.”

“I won’t!” she called back. “Oh, and Shikamaru?”

He didn’t answer, just kept walking. _It doesn’t matter_ , he thought, s _he’ll keep talking anyway._

Of course he was right. “My dad will be here in like half an hour, and by then the bakery will be shut and—”

“And you forgot to get him his lemon tart again…”

Every Tuesday, Inoichi Yamanaka would pry himself away from work early to come and see Ino at the flower shop, and wait to give her a lift home. It was the only day he’d ever done it, but it had been the case as long as Shikamaru could remember. When Ino was little, he’d pick her up from school and they’d go wait until her mother closed up the shop, and she was always leave a little bag behind the counter from the bakery up the road. Inside it would always be a lemon tart.

Shikamaru had heard the story enough times that it was cemented somewhere in his mind that the most important part of a Tuesday afternoon shift was to run to The Bluebird Bakery if Ino hadn’t already. He knew how much it meant to her, as much of a pain as it was. So before she even shouted back a plea, he found himself habitually grabbing his hoodie and throwing it over his shoulders.

“See you in a bit.”

As he flung open the door, the cold air hit him like a six-foot fan had thrust air into his face, and he felt every hair on his head fly from their place in his ponytail. Eager to keep it in place, he threw his hood up and his hands in his pockets, slowly jogging a few shops down toward the bakery. He barged into the door with his shoulder and pushed his way in. This time of day they were getting ready to close, and the room was bare except for one young man, leaning on the counter by the till; one Shikamaru recognised.

It was him, Temari’s brother.

“Come on, Suki,” the man chuckled, smiling at the young woman across the counter. “They’d love to meet you. Besides, they won’t even be in long, and my brother doesn’t get home until late tonight.”

“But your sister does!” The girl blushed. “Kankuro, I don’t know. We’ve barely been seeing each other a month.”

Shikamaru gulped and leant against the wall.

“She’s far too into her work at the moment to care if there’s one more body in the house.” He stood up straight and ran a hand through his hair. “But if you don’t want to I get—”

“No, I do want to!” She reached out and grabbed his hands. “Once we’ve closed up I’ll come to the shop. Wait for me, okay? Just as long as you promise she won’t care.”

Kankuro shook his head, grinning. “Trust me, she’s got more important things on her…”

Shikamaru didn’t notice the young man trail off, nor did he notice his head turn to look at him. All that was on the younger man’s mind was whether the one remaining lemon tart behind the counter could magically appear in the flower shop without him having to interrupt their conversation.

“Hey.”

A jolt went through Shikamaru’s shoulders, and his head slowly turned to see both the man and woman staring at him.

“Hey you’re him, aren’t you? The guy from the pub.” Kankuro shoved his hands into his pockets. “You’re my sister’s new obsession.”

“I don’t know, man,” wheezed Shikamaru, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“You know each other?” the lady, Suki, piped up chirpily before turning her attention—and massive smile—toward Shikamaru. “Small world. You want a lemon tart again, Shikamaru?”

He nodded, smiling back slightly. “Please.”

“I wouldn’t have taken you for a tart, kind of guy,” Kankuro chuckled.

“Well, it isn’t actually for—”

“Sorry, but what’s the protocol here, man?”

Shikamaru faltered and shoved his hands into the pocket of his hoodie once again, only just realising the highly feminine pattern of his uniform was probably contributing to the grin on this intimidating guy’s face. He fumbled for his keys, just to nervously fiddle with something; he could feel the tingling on the back of his scalp set in as his anxiousness slowly creeped up on him.

“I, uh,” he muttered, trying—and failing—to laugh. “I don’t know if there is one.”

“Man, look. I know you’ve been through this tonnes of times. All I wanna know is this: am I allowed to be talking to you?”

Lifelessly, and desperate to retain the small level of cool he had, Shikamaru shrugged. “Ask Temari. I don’t know. I assume not.”

A smile grew, mischievous and eager, across Kankuro’s face. “I’m going to assume I am.”

“I’m sorry, guys; one second,” Suki interrupted, softly and almost afraid. “That’ll be one-twenty, Shikamaru, please.”

He didn’t waste any time pacing over, grabbing the little paper bag and throwing coins down on the counter. With a smile he thanked her and quickly scurried back toward the door. “Well, uh…nice to meet you, man.”

“Yeah,” replied the other man, his voice low and careless. “I’ll tell Tem you said hi, yeah?”

Shikamaru turned slightly, nodding, and raised his hand. “See you around.”

Kankuro didn’t reply, but Shikamaru could feel the resentment radiating from him. Or at least he thought, for a second, that he could. Frankly, this wasn’t his strong suit—the whole two minute long affair had made his stomach churn, and the walk back to the shop couldn’t be over fast enough. He didn’t care about the wind in his hair this time round, he just wanted his feet to carry him away from that place.

Before this moment, he’d never understood what Chōji would say when he complained about girlfriend’s siblings, and how he felt like they could snap him in half. He’d always laughed and thought it sounded cliché or like an overreaction, but now he got it. One look from Temari’s brother made his heart race—and he wasn’t even anything _like_  with her. But he couldn’t deny that his mind had been shouting constant gibberish, with only one objective: not to embarrass himself, to make him respect him.

Every day Shikamaru would greet and talk to dozens upon dozens of people, and he didn’t care if the smile he served them with looked false or whether he looked like an impossibly happy, fantasyland man. There were very few people he wanted to respect him besides his parents—even less he wanted to impress—so why, when he met his therapist’s brother, a stranger he’d seen and heard speak many times before, did he feel that wash over him. Why did he feel his emotions bubbling in the same way they did when Mrs Yamanaka gave him that pitiful look for having to work shifts around his appointments? Why did he care what a stranger, who he never should have met, thought of him?

He didn’t know, and as he flung open the door to the florists, he accepted that he wouldn’t. All he knew was that he needed a smoke, and he needed one badly.

“Tart’s down here, Ino!” he shouted up. “I’m going out for a cigarette!”

There was violent shuffling from up above. “Wait, what?”

“I’ll come back in if we get a customer!”

“No, wait! What happened?”

“ _Nothing happened_!” He sighed. “I just need a smoke, okay?”

The silence that followed, at least for the second long duration he waited for an answer, was all he needed to hear to go ahead and step outside.

It didn’t matter to him that the cold was numbing his fingers; what mattered was the wind halting his lighting of his cigarette. He shrouded it, desperate to set it alight, and leant against the window of the shop as he took his first drag, and felt the warmth sear through his body. Nothing felt like this—like the first cigarette in hours on a freezing cold day. Nothing warmed him up, from the inside out, and made him feel whole again, like the smell of the smoke cloud that lightly blanketed him. Obviously, in this precise moment, the smell blew away in seconds, but when he closed his eyes, he could almost forget the air pummelling his face, and the cold numbing his senses. For one moment, he could relax—just him and the elements, desperately trying to get his attention and failing miserably.

All he did was stand there, slowly edging his way down to the end of the cigarette. _If only the week would go as fast as one of these does,_  he thought.

Another week before his shoulders lightened, just that little bit more in her company, was too long for him. It almost pissed him off to admit it, but he was beginning to crave her company in almost equal measure to those little sticks of tobacco, and seeing her brother certainly hadn’t helped that feeling.

* * *

 

She heard the door slam shut followed by some faint giggling, and immediately what was happening. But, instead of her usual teasing shout, Temari held her tongue, and took a sip of her tea as she kept reading the sheet of paper in front of her. Only when she could hear footsteps a few metres behind her did she finally tear her eyes away.

“Hi,” she mumbled, turning to face the young man as he threw his shoes off into the corner. “Who’s downstairs then?”

Kankuro smirked and hung up his jacket on the back of a chair. “Suki.”

“Ew, stop smirking!” gagged Temari, immediately turning around and grabbing her tea. “Look, I don’t care what you do just don’t make me hear about it, yeah?”

“Why do you always assume I’ve brought girls back to shag them?”

“Because of the amount of times I’ve walked in on a Friday night and you’ve been on the sofa, half-naked on top of one of them!”

“It’s Tuesday.”

Her eyebrows raised. “Mixing it up. Exciting.”

“Don’t make me sound like some kind of dick.”

“I’m not,” she laughed. “You just aren’t very good at…privacy.” She shook her head, taking a sip of her tea. “Sorry. I can leave if she doesn’t want to meet me. I’ve got a load of stuff to get on with, anyway.”

He nodded profusely. “If you wouldn’t mind, Tem, that’d be ace.”

She downed the last of her drink and gathered up the pages she’d taken from the file that was strewn across the kitchen table. “I’ve got a week to try and suss out exactly how to precede with this one guy…”

“Oh,” Kankuro chuckled. “I saw him today by the way.”

Temari’s head shot up. “Who?”

“You know who— _him_. Shika-whatever.”

“Maru—Shikamaru,” she corrected, absentmindedly. “What the heck do you mean you saw him today?”

His arms flailed cartoonish way as he shrugged. “I mean, _I saw him_.”

“Okay, _now_  you’re being a dick. What do you—”

“Tem, chill out. He came into the bakery while I was in there with Suki.” He stepped towards the door and put a thumbs up, seemingly so the girl knew it was okay to come up. “It’s fine—barely spoke to him.”

“You didn’t tell him who you were, did you?”

“Didn’t need to. He’s a wimp though, Tem. Proper wuss, isn’t he?”

Her eyebrows furrowed. “Kankuro…”

“Seriously, though: he’s a mumbler, and he got a lemon tart.”

“Oh yes.” Temari gave an infamous eye roll. “Because that says so much about his character.”

“Actually,” sounded a soft voice from the doorway, “he buys it for his girlfriend’s dad.”

Temari’s head cocked to one side, and she felt her stomach flip. “He told me he doesn’t have a girlfriend.”

Suki blushed and bit down on her lip. “Sorry, I guess it _is_  just an assumption. But ever since I’ve worked at Bluebird he comes in almost every Tuesday and gets one for the blonde girl from the flower shop to give to her dad.”

“I was wondering about the shirt…”

“Kankuro,” Temari warned, “you shouldn’t have even fucking spoken to him!” She could feel her blood boiling, and her hands were sweating as she tried to compile all her stuff.

“I’m Suki, by the way. It’s nice to meet you.”

The blonde snapped round to look into the girl’s smiley eyes, forcing a warm smile. “Oh, yeah, um…I’ll get out of your way.” She threw her folder and papers into her arms and turned on her heel quickly. “It was nice to meet you, too.”

“Oh, Tem?”

Agitated she stopped, refusing to turn.

“So I’m not to talk to Shiki-thingy again if I see him?”

“Shikamaru!” she huffed. “And no. He’s my patient.”

“Okay, but…” There was a moment of silence. “I know what you think of him, but…Don’t even think about it. He seems like pretty weak guy, Tem. It’s not worth it…”

She couldn’t help herself—everything had built up slowly, to the point where Temari threw everything she held to the floor and stormed back towards him, pulling him away toward the corner of the room. Quickly she shot Suki a regretful smile and grabbed him by the collar. Her eyes flared up, cheeks growing red, and she could see in Kankuro’s eyes that he was ready to laugh at her, but she was moments away from punching him.

“Kankuro, I swear,” Temari warned, in a low and threatening tone, “that if you speak ill of that guy one more time, I’ll freaking punch you.”

He smiled. “Chill out, Tem, I just—”

“No. The guy has survived three suicide attempts and spends every day of his life feeling like he’s got nobody on his side, and yet I’m sure he still smiled at you, didn’t he?” she added, level and calm. Her eyes set on him sharply, and immediately she saw his brow soften. “Didn’t he?”

Kankuro nodded slowly, bewildered.

She loosened her grip and backed away, shaking her head. “So don’t you dare say he’s weak. You _know_  what it’s like, Kankuro. You’ve seen.  _Be bloody respectful_.”

Kankuro didn’t have a chance to speak before she hurried upstairs, hauling her belongings and slamming her door. She felt like she’d embarrassed herself, but she recognised it was necessary—she couldn’t hear him talk like that anymore, whether he meant it or not. He didn’t mean any harm, but nobody else knew that, and his inconsiderate words weren’t something everyone could stomach.

She could only hope he hadn’t put Shikamaru through his usual snide shit. __

* * *

 

“Shikamaru Nara, get your butt in here now!”

“Mum, leave it out, would you?” called back the young man, halfheartedly. “I’m not a kid.”

As he sat outside on his doorstep, staring up at the stars, he puffed away on his fourth cigarette of the hour. But now, as the night sky was black, speckled only with a few dots of glitter, the warmth of his chest was doing nothing for his heart.

This was becoming a problem, he could tell; how much he was relying on this woman. It had only been—what?—thirty-something hours since he’d taken the plunge and told her about it, and a week remained until the worst part: the session that followed. The telling unearthed the problem, but the talking just pulled at the roots with no real force, like tweezers that almost pull out every hair, but can’t. So, instead, they leave it more painful and infuriating than ever before, and it’s okay because they tried. Maybe someone else can pull it, and fully dig out the roots that are so twisted, rooted so deep that nobody has ever had the chance to try; not even him.

“Hey, kid, are you okay?”

Shikamaru slowly looked up, suddenly whipped from his thoughts. Only when his head moved did he feel the pools welling in his eyelids, and he blinked them away before the man could see him. “I’m fine, Dad.”

Shikaku made his way down the steps and fell down beside his son, nudging him gently with his elbow. “It doesn’t seem like it’s working.”

“What?”

“Don’t play stupid,” sighed the older man. “You know what. The therapy.”

With a shake of his head, Shikamaru tapped his ash into the soil of one of his mother’s favourite flowerpots absentmindedly—something he’d later regret massively. “I’m not sure, honestly.” His head turned slightly to face his father, but he couldn’t lift his eyes all the way. “So far I definitely feel…”

“Happier?”

The hope in his voice was almost too much for Shikamaru to bear, and when he shook his head, he could see out of the corner of his eye a subtle droop in his posture.

“I was going to say I feel hopeful, this time.”

Shikaku grunted. “Your mother said she tried to find a man but couldn’t.”

“I don’t care. My therapist, she’s…” Shikamaru rubbed his eyes, taking a long drag as he thought of the right word. “She’s understanding,” he settled on.

“I should hope so. We pay her enough; that’s her basic job.”

“No, you don’t get it, old man,” groaned the son, once again dropping ash into the flowerpot. “She understands how to get to me—how to make me actually engage with her.”

Chuckling, Shikaku shook his head. “And what weird sacrifice did she have to do to pull that one off?”

“Har, har,” Shikamaru sighed. “We just play chess—if I lose she gets to choose what I talk about.”

“But you’ve not lost since—”

“Since a couple of weeks ago when _she_  thrashed me in just a few of minutes.”

Instantly, the older man straightened up, grinning. “She _beat_  you?”

Shikamaru nodded, a gentle grin stretching across his fave—a mirror image of his father. “Yep.”

“She beat _you_?”

“Only the once, but yeah,” he chuckled in reply. “And I talked to her about a _lot_  of shit.”

“What about the…the, um…”

While he was undeniably uncomfortable answering, we wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable in that precise moment as Shikaku, so he forced the words out. “Yeah I told her about them. All three.” He took a deep breath before finally turning to look at his father. “She said it was okay, and that we didn’t need to dwell on it, just fix it. She said she can fix me.”

“And you believe her?”

“Wow, Dad. Your optimism is so great.”

“No, really. Do you?”

The look in Shikaku’s eyes was wholesome—full of softness and care—and it made Shikamaru feel stupid for ever thinking that man wanted anything more than for his son to be happy.

With a gentle smile, Shikamaru nodded, taking a short drag. “She’s wonderful, and she actually cares.”

“Not like—”

“No,” he lied, “not like that. She’s my therapist, old man. Even if I did care about her like _that_  or by some chance she did me, I’m better than that. She’s certainly better than that.”

“So why do you look so hurt?”

Shikamaru dropped his head again. “Dad, you were told you should send me to some rehabilitation, helping place, right?”

He hummed in response.

“Why didn’t you?”

There was a silence.

“It was selfish at first; we didn’t want to admit you needed the help you do need. But in the end it cans down to one thing—you need your friends. You need your normal life, or else you’re never going to get out of your own head, Shikamaru.” Shikaku budged him with his elbow playfully. “You’re too much like me. You’re in you’re head, constantly, and only the people around you can ground you.”

“She grounds me,” he interrupted. “I walk into that room with her and I feel safe from myself. I feel free from whatever I think at any given moment, because she’ll bat it aside as though it’s false.”

“It is false, Shikamaru.”

“But when my head gets bad, all I want is…” he trailed off, shaking his head and taking another drag, too red with embarrassment to make another sound.

Shikaku pointed at the dying cigarette in his son’s hand and hopped to his feet. “You really should stop it. It’s a bad habit.”

“No matter how much you say it, old man, I’m never gonna—”

“I know.” He smiled, kicking him gently with his foot. “Now, call her.”


	9. The Mediator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nobody's really sure if what she's doing is right, herself included, but Gaara is certainly not going to let the discussion go on too long.

Temari had been sat on her bed, staring intently at the same paragraph for almost half an hour. She felt like she was a student again, desperately trying to grasp a concept so she could prove to everyone she understood, that she was ready to become what she’d always wanted to become. But the very nature of the feeling that overwhelmed her told her exactly how false it was.

After she’d passed everything, gotten all of the achievements and grants and well done’s, she still felt like she was learning; like she’d not learnt enough. And, honestly, it was terrifying.

Reading over page upon page of her notes wasn’t going to change that fact that she didn’t know how, without a voice on her shoulder or some very strong pills laced with magic, how to cure someone of all their troubles within an instant. It certainly wasn’t going to change the fact that the only patient that had her undivided attention right now was the strangest.

It made her want to call up her old professor and ask him if it was okay, what she told him? As far as she was concerned, she didn’t want to dwell on his horrors, she wanted to resolve their roots. She didn’t want to force feelings out of him that weren’t ready to surface, or lie about her own feelings. She wanted to be a friend, but wasn’t that wrong? If her professor knew—hell, if her boss knew—she’d surely have the most overwhelming shame cloud her entire aura.

Then again, right now the focus was meant to be on the woman who’s file was lying spread out across her duvet, littering every inch of her bed. No more Shikamaru Nara for the day, just helping this lovely little lady.

But suddenly, a knock came from the door, only to be followed quickly by the door opening. Without looking up, she knew only one of her siblings had the nerve to walk in before she welcomed him.

“Kankuro, what is it?” she groaned balling a fist around her hair and pulling in frustration. “I said I’d leave you alone. What more could you possibly want?”

He stepped forward, eyebrows raised. “There’s some guy who rang me up to talk to you.”

Temari couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Wow,” she smirked, “that’s not at all weird is it?”

“I told him to get a grip but he says it’s important.”

“If I knew him and it actually was, he’d have _my_ number. And he’d call _me_.”

“That’s what I said to him but—” kankuro froze and put the phone up to his ear, frowning. “No, no. Just tell me who—”

“Kankuro, just give it here. I’ll get rid of him.”

Something changed in his eyes. “I, um, I’m not sure it’s a good idea, Tem.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, I—”

“He just told me he’s a patient but he couldn’t get hold of your practice so he— _hey_!”

Temari hurled herself to her feet and grabbed the phone, pacing back and forth before finally putting it to her ear. “Hello?”

“Hey.” The familiar voice echoed down the phone and stirred the warmth in the pit of her stomach.

“Shikamaru, hi,” she mumbled, avoiding the infuriated glare from her little brother. She tried to silently shoo him out with her hands, but he remained. “What’s the matter? You’re not feeling like you’re going to, um…you know…”

”Oh, no, no,” he assured, his voice calm and serene. “I just felt, ya know, off. And I wanted to talk to you.”

Temari sighed and closed her eyes. “I’m sorry, Shikamaru, but this is completely unethical. We can’t just—”

“Temari, I can assure you that this is one-hundred percent just a depressed guy really needing his therapist right now, nothing more.”

She could see Kankuro getting more and more angry as he tapped his foot, leaning against the threshold. “There’s a reason we don’t give out our phone numbers.”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I know.”

“So that _this_ doesn’t happen.”

“I know but it’s not your number.”

She couldn’t help but chuckle. “You’re not wrong, but how did you know to call—”

“I didn’t. I just called the mobile number in your brothers shop window and hoped.” A gentle laugh came down the line. “If it’s really that much of a pain though, I can go. It’s just I don’t know if I can wait until Monday.”

“Why?”

“Don’t engage with him!” Kankuro pleaded, storming over and reaching for his phone, but she rolled across the bed, avoiding him. “Temari, for God’s sake…”

“Sorry, Shikamaru, did you answer? My brother is being a twat.”

There was a soft sigh. “No, forget it. It’s fine. I’ll go.”

“Shikamaru,” repeated Temari firmly. “If you needed to call, things clearly aren’t fine.”

“Well, it’s a drag, but I guess I just can’t stop thinking about—”

“Aha!” Kankuro cried as he snatched back his phone and put it to his ear. Desperately Temari scolded him, swearing as she tried to grab it back, but she just wasn’t tall enough or fast enough when he held it out of reach. “Sorry, kid, but my sister isn’t allowed to talk to you. Wait until you’re paying her.”

“Kankuro!”

He hung up and shook his head. “Temari, what is wrong with you? You’ve told me dozens of times you aren’t allowed to personally contact patients.”

“But it was him that—”

“And vice versa, obviously! Temari you’re meant to be the smart one, the righteous one!” He tucked his phone into his back pocket and gave a highly patronising look. “Nobody else has gone to such lengths to contact you. It’s _weird_ , Tem. It’s just plain weird.”

“But it isn’t weird! He’s not okay—he might really need my help and you didn’t even let him explain it to me!”

“Because you’re too attached to him!” he shouted back. “You and I both know how wrong that is, and deep down you know you need to pass him on to someone else!”

“No, Kankuro, I don’t!”

“Hey, hey, hey,” a mediated voice sounded from the hallway. “What the hell is going on in here?”

“Gaara,” Kankuro growled, “tell her she needs to sign that weird kid she’s obsessed with over to someone else.”

“What?”

“Gaara,” said Temari, much calmer than her brother, “tell him he’s got it all wrong. I just want to help him. Tell him he needs to let me just help him!”

Gaara frowned, running a hand through his red hair. “You know, guys, I’m not up for being middle ground.”

“Then just tell her what you think!” Kankuro was infuriated, and equally as infuriating. He reached out and grabbed Gaara’s shoulder, looking down at him slightly. “You’ve been where that guy is now; tell her this isn’t what he needs.”

Temari whimpered and fell back on her bed as she mumbled, “Gaara, please don’t…”

The youngest sibling looked around, trying to survey the room. “So what happened—no shouting!” He quickly snapped his head to look at Kankuro. “Did he follow her home or something?”

The blonde twiddled her thumbs, staring at the phone that poked out of her brothers pocket. “Nothing _that_  weird, no.”

“No, he just _rang me up_  to try and speak to her.”

“What? Why you?”

“Because,” Kankuro added, a deep miserable glare shooting Temari’s way, “he didn’t know her number but he knew I was her brother, so he rang the number we have in the window of the shop. You know, for orders and stuff. Isn’t that _weird_?”

Gaara bit down on his lip. “Actually, yeah that is weird.”

“But he only rang me because he needed someone!”

“You said he had—”

“I don’t _care_  if he does have family and friends—one of my many jobs for him is to make him feel safe!” Temari stormed over to Kankuro and stared up into his gaze with eyes full of brewing tears. “And you’ve just made him feel small, like he doesn’t matter. For all we know you could’ve just sent him over the edge!”

“I haven’t though, have I? You’re exaggerating!”

Gaara put his hands between them and gently pushed them away from one another. “Just stop, alright? Just calm down and—”

Out of nowhere, Kankuro’s phone began to ring.

“Give me that,” Gaara demanded, offering an outstretched hand to his brother. “Give it to me.”

“But it’s my—”

“I don’t give a shit if it’s yours, man. You lost the right to answer your phone the minute you started yelling because someone needed Temari’s help.”

“But it’s weird, and she shouldn’t—”

“Besides the point, Kankuro.” Gaara wiggled his fingers, strengthening his request. “If someone needs help, you help them. If nobody else can today, Temari will.”

Temari smiled slightly, and watched as Kankuro—miserably and horribly slowly—put his phone in Gaara’s palm. “Thanks, Gaara,” she whispered, wiping her eyes slightly in case any tears had escaped. “Now can I—”

“No, _I’m_  talking to him.” Gaara winced slightly before quickly tapping and putting the phone to his ear. “Hello? Is this—ah okay…”

Temari could feel her palms sweating, and her face flushing with embarrassment; almost as red and Kankuro was with rage. Still, despite his anger, she couldn’t help but put her foot it in, as he always did with her. “Your girlfriend is waiting for you downstairs, dumbass,” she spat. “Go see her for crying out loud. This isn’t important!”

“Oh yeah right.” He laughed a vile laugh and raised his eyebrows at her. “As if I’m leaving you here with him. He will one hundred percent bail and let you talk to—”

“One second man, I can’t hear you,” Gaara interrupted, raising his voice as he spoke down the phone, glaring at his older brother. “Let me go somewhere where my brother isn’t yelling. One second.”

* * *

 

When Gaara finally re-emerged from the hall after what felt like an age, Kankuro still hadn’t calmed down; he was visibly shaking as he glared across the room. However, Temari had managed to settle herself down slightly, and forced herself to restart reading what was meant to be occupying her Tuesday evening. But, with her brother seething across the room, she had hardly got much done.

Still, when the door creaked open and in wandered the youngest sibling with a piece of paper in one hand and Kankuro’s phone in the other, he let out a huge sigh. “Right, Kankuro. Here.”

He threw back the phone, and the older brother fumbled to catch it, shaking his head. “What on earth took that long?”

“Just go see your girlfriend, Kankuro. I think you’ve really pissed her off; she’s called a cab.”

“Wait, what?”

Gaara rolled his eyes. “Just go talk her out of it, yeah?”

Almost instantly, the middle child was gone.

“So,” Temari mumbled, nervously shutting the file before her, “is he okay?”

“Frankly, Tem,” he sighed, “I have no idea. But I understand him.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “I knew you would.”

“So I got his number from him so you can call him back, because he does need you. He does need help.”

“Gaara, thank you, I—”

“Don’t mention it.” He smiled, handed her the paper and gave her a tight hug. “Just be careful, yeah?”

Nodding profusely, she hugged him back. “Thank you.”

As her brother left the room, she flew over to her bag and began rooting around for her phone. Why was it he was the calmest sibling? Why did he feel older than her, even though she could remember the day he was born, and the shift that came with it? The power he had to silence Kankuro and herself never failed to amaze Temari, and she had to wonder if it was because of his past suffering that he was so calm, so good at being the mediator of so many situations. Then again, it didn’t matter—he was a great little brother, and she was so proud of him.

Finally fishing her phone out of her bag, she wasted no time punching in the number on the slip Gaara had handed her. Still, it didn’t make pressing the call button any easier; it still felt wrong, no matter how desperate she was to talk to him—no, desperate to _help_  him. That’s why she was calling, she had to remember. She was calling to help him.

With her eyes tightly shut she quickly pressed the button and put her phone close to her ear, listening intently to the droning ring over and over again…

“Hello?”

The sound of his voice cutting it off made her chest fill with warmth. “Shikamaru, it’s me.”

“Oh, um—”

“Temari, I mean.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “I know your voice. It’s just…well, isn’t this totally not right?”

She was so glad that this conversation wasn’t in person, or else she knew how hard it would be to hide the blush spreading across her whole face. “By principle, no, it isn’t right,” she winced, biting down on her lip. “Then again, you need my help. And my brother noted down your number and told me to call back, so…”

His laugh, slightly distorted, came through and echoed in her head. “It’s safe to say he’s nicer than your other one.”

“Kankuro means well,” she insisted. “He just doesn’t understand; he’s like my dad was.”

“Oh? Are there some deep rooted daddy-issues in the back of your—”

“I’m _your_  therapist, not the other way around. Don’t push your luck.” She sighed. “All I meant is Gaara’s been where you are—not to the same extent, but…well, he understands.”

A more wholesome, softer laugh followed. “Right, okay,” he mumbled. “I appreciate it.”

It was a shame, she noted, that her brother and Shikamaru could never be friends due to her existence. She could tell that they would get along, and it almost made her want to break even more rules; but she couldn’t do that. This, this _one_  phone call, was the most sinful thing she could be doing right now.

“Look, I know you’re going to say no, but…” He coughed uncomfortably, audibly sighing afterwards. “Well, it’s a pain talking on the phone. It costs a fortune and, well, I can’t hear you very well, so, er…”

Maybe the phone call wasn’t the most sinful thing she could do. Maybe she could raise it by asking just one question.

“Shikamaru?”

“Hmm?”

“Where is it you want to meet?”


	10. Share The Smoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They both know it's wrong, but nobody's going to admit how right it feels.

For her brothers to believe her lie that she was going to work at the all night cafe a few streets away and not to secretly meet someone, Temari had been made to carry her files around in her bag, but after only five minutes waiting outside the fish-and-chip shop, she found herself unable to keep hold of it anymore. Checking her phone once again, she slid down against the wall and put her bag beside her on the floor. It was almost nine-thirty, and she’d been waiting for her chips since nine-twenty-three. She’d been waiting for _him_  since nine-fifteen.

 _Give it five more minutes_ , she decided, _and I’m going home._

Meanwhile, Shikamaru speed walked down the street, desperately trying to stop himself from slowing to a halt and lighting a cigarette to calm his nerves. Instead, he powered on forward in the knowledge he was late, turning the final corner before he saw her, slumped against the window outside, and staring straight ahead across the road.

He physically couldn’t stop himself starting to run towards her.

“Hey!” he called out.

Her head whipped round, her ponytail flailing, but instead of heading over to him when she jumped to her feet, she disappeared into the door behind her.

Shikamaru couldn’t help the wave of disappointment that flew over him, nor could he stop his feet from running toward the shop. He _needed_  to see her.

When he reached his goal, he saw her through the window, smiling at the man over the counter as she grabbed a small bag from him. Wrapped up in a tartan scarf and big fluffy coat, chunky boots at her feet instead of the smart ones she wore at her office, he couldn’t help but stare at her in awe. And in that moment, it didn’t matter how cold the air was, his hands started to grow clammy with nerves.

“Hey,” she said, smiling with the guiltiest look on her face. “I’m sorry—I had to get food.” She stuffed a chip into her mouth. “Kankuro and his girlfriend wanted to be alone and I was _not_  going to argue, and I couldn’t cook anything.”

Blushing, and hoping it would pass off as the wind burning his cheeks, Shikamaru shook his head, tapping his foot. “No worries. I won’t keep you long.”

“It’s fine,” sighed Temari, “but we should probably go somewhere…not here.”

“Why?”

“Well, not to be a downer but I would be sacked if anyone who I work with found out I did this, and our receptionist lives just round the corner, so…”

Shikamaru nodded. “I get it. Maybe we shouldn’t—”

“No!” she interrupted, just a little too quickly. “Just follow me.”

As they began to walk, Shikamaru couldn’t help smiling into the scarf around his neck, hoping she couldn’t see. It was a weird feeling—he felt so calm in her presence that he’d almost forgotten outright what it was that was bothering him. “Thank you,” he said, trying not to let the situation become silent too quickly. “I was just feeling so low and, well, I know you help me.”

“I get it.” Temari smiled, offering out the bag containing her dinner. “Have some.”

“I already ate,” he lied.

“Oh, okay.”

She seemed disheartened, and Shikamaru’s heart dropped. Out of habit he whipped out his cigarettes and put one to his lips, reaching into his pocket for his lighter, but, as he did so, he caught her staring out the corner of his eye.

“Are you not alright with cigarettes?”

Temari looked taken aback, clearly believing he hadn’t seen her. She quickly busied herself eating and shook her head. “Oh, sorry. No. You do whatever.”

The tiny flame illuminated his face in such a way that she could see every little detail; the tiny little smile lines around his mouth, the varying shades of brown that rampaged in his eyes, and the sharpness of each of his features. He shivered as he took in his first drag of the cigarette, and Temari couldn’t help opening her mouth. “You’re not warm enough.”

“You sound like my mother,” he chuckled, a small smoke cloud coming out as he spoke. “I’m fine.”

“You’re skin and bone. You’ve not got any fat on you to keep you warm, Shikamaru.” She shook her head. “And fingerless gloves don’t do much for keeping you warm.”

“But they _do_  work better for using my lighter.”

“Why am I not surprised you’re a smoker?”

Shikamaru shrugged. “Because I told you the other day that I was.”

“No, I mean, a _smoker_  smoker. You’re not just a casual, have a ciggy when I need one kind of guy, are you?” she quizzed. “You constantly do it, don’t you? You reek of smoke. Constantly.”

“Thank you for the confidence boost.”

“That isn’t what I meant,” she groaned. “I love the smell of smoke.”

“So do I.”

“I guessed.”

He chuckled. “You came here to listen to me, not grill me about my habits.”

“I’m not grilling you!”

The chuckle grew to a full blown grin and he took another drag. “You’re funny, Temari.”

She frowned. “I’m not funny, I’m just talking.”

“I know,” he mumbled, cigarette poking out the corner of his mouth. “It’s just that you act like you’re hard but you’re obviously a softie.”

“I’m not—”

“It’s not a bad thing.”

“Why is it funny then?”

His dark eyes shifted and locked with hers, bright and beautiful before he sped up. “Doesn’t matter.”

Temari huffed and walked faster to catch up with him. They neared the end of the road, at which stood an entrance to a small park, littered with benches. The trees were so luscious here; evergreen and beautiful, living through the winter. As they stepped through the gates and into the greenery, she had reached the bottom of her bag of food, Temari found it difficult to read Shikamaru. He walked slightly ahead, one hand in his pocket, the other clutching the remains of his cigarette between two fingers.

“So, you want to talk to me?”

He didn’t turn. “Mhmm.”

“Talk then,” she chuckled, impatiently. “I could get in serious trouble, and I just want to know something good came from this.”

Shikamaru’s feet shuffled to a halt and he looked up at the sky through the gaps in the trees. “I was thinking all day about what you said; about me having destructive thinking patterns.”

“Okay.” Temari slowly parked herself beside him and shared his view. “And?”

“ _And_  I was trying to think about what they are, especially after I saw your brother in the bakery.”

Temari blushed. “Yeah he told me about that. I’m so sorry about him.”

“That’s the thing, I didn’t feel like he did anything wrong. He was intense, sure, but I felt like I was being…I dunno, a bit of a dick for not talking to him much.” He turned, looking down into her eyes. “I just told him I didn’t think that we were meant to talk, and then I felt like I’d ruined his day.”

“You didn’t.”

“Yeah, I’m aware of that. _Perfectly_  aware of that. But I couldn’t just separate myself from it.”

“I understand,” Temari sighed. “Maybe you’re not as much of a puzzle as I thought you were, Shikamaru.”

He bit down on his lip and looked away, fishing out another cigarette from his pocket.

“I thought you were going to have all these deep rooted and unsolvable issues,” she smiled, hoping he’d see her. But he didn’t turn. “Thing is, I think you just want everybody to be happy.”

Shikamaru shrugged, lighting the stick of tobacco and puffing on it.

“You do, don’t you? You want everyone to be happy, and you feel like you stop that happening.”

“I guess so,” he mumbled. “But that’s not important enough a feeling to make someone feel like they want to…you know…”

Temari shook her head. “No, it _can_  be. Everyone has different intensities of emotion.”

He smirked and started to wander off, cigarette glued to his mouth and arms hand raised as though greeting someone. “Hi,” he said, as if on a game show, “I’m Shikamaru Nara and I want to die because I can’t bring world peace.” He turned and looked at her in disbelief, half smiling to keep his smoke in place. “I’m sorry, Tem, but that’s bollocks.”

Temari felt her heart flutter. Only her brothers these days called her Tem, but the feeling of Shikamaru casually talking to her, calling her by a nickname on instinct…well, that felt worryingly normal; worryingly nice.

Clearly he’d noticed the surprised look on her face. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Temari, I meant.”

“No.” She stepped towards him, her expression warm and welcoming. “Tem is fine.”

“Sure?”

“Sure,” she sighed. “Just maybe don’t make blasé statements like that, yeah?”

“But it just doesn’t seem like—”

“Shikamaru?” Her interruption was brutally sharp. “Can I have a smoke?”

He raised his eyebrows, holding back a laugh in shock. “After you just grilled me about—”

“I didn’t grill you!”

“Surely you don’t smoke.”

“I _socially_  smoke. When I drink and it’s cold.”

Shikamaru let his hand fall into his pocket. “You’re not drinking.”

“But it _is_  freezing cold. Come on,” she begged. “It’s the least you can do.”

“The _least_  I could do would be to give you a drag of mine,” he chuckled.

Sighing, Temari stepped closer and looked up into his eyes. “That’ll do, if they’re that precious to you.”

Amazed, he took it from his mouth and handed it over, hiding himself in his scarf once again. He watched as Temari took a drag and held it back out to him, letting the smoke drift as she breathed out, and looked her dead in the eye.

It was pure torture how beautiful she was. Never had Shikamaru felt compelled to tell a woman that she was beautiful, or ask her for coffee; never until now, with the exact woman that it was totally impossible to ask that. With a smile he took back the cigarette, breathing in before handing it straight back, only to be greeted by the happiest of subtle smiles on Temari’s face.

“Did I tell you about the woman who tried to sleep with me?”

Temari almost choked on the smoke she inhaled. “Wow, that sounds like a corny movie line. I’m sure many have.”

“Har, har.” He snatched his cigarette. “Three therapists ago I had a woman, like you but _much weirder_  and she spent half of our sessions flirting with me instead of helping.”

“And why has this moment reminded you of _that_ , exactly?” She had to try not to giggle at his description of time passing in terms of therapists.

He shrugged. “I guess just ’cause you’re an attractive woman.” His tone was as callous as it could be and, in his heart of hearts, he prayed she’d see through to his true intentions.

Instead she shook her head, laughing. “I mean, that’s awful, and I can promise you right now I will not be doing _that_.”

“I didn’t think so.”

He took a drag and passed it back.

_But she is beautiful…_

_She_  took a drag and passed it back.

_He’s just so handsome…_

He closed his eyes and turned, passing it straight to her. “You finish it,” he insisted.

_I should go. But I don’t want to leave her here…_

“No, it’s yours,” Temari argued, holding it between them.

_If I finish it, and she’s finished talking, I have no reason to stay…_

“Seriously,” he mumbled, edging closer by a couple of shuffling steps. “It’s yours, Tem.”

I’m _yours, Tem…_

Slowly, she put it to her lips, smirking. “So you’re okay?”

Shikamaru shrugged. “Well, if by that you mean—”

“I mean other than the general misery that sometimes comes with being depressed,” she butted in with a smile. “Other than that are you okay?”

Warmly he smiled. “I suppose so. I don’t know how you do it though.”

“Do what?”

He averted his eyes, scuffing his boots against the floor. “Well, I dunno. It’s a drag but you always calm me down somehow. I felt so…” A gentle chuckle fluttered from his lips. “I guess, really het up—really on edge, you know. But when I saw you and we started talking to you, I faded away a bit.”

“Met me as in first met me or today?”

“ _Both_.”

Temari couldn’t stop herself smiling. “You’re very sweet underneath everything.”

“Um!” he replied, offended as his head shot up. “The fuck do you mean ‘underneath everything’?”

“Oh shut up,” she giggled, reaching out and gently placing her hand on his shoulder. “You know what I mean.”

Shikamaru shook his head, eyes fixed on hers. “You’re a bitch.”

“I’m not.”

“No, you’re right,” he admitted, grinning into his scarf, hidden from her. “You’re not.”

Shikamaru slowly reached up and placed his hand on Temari’s atop his shoulder, pursing his lips. Even through her gloves he could feel the warmth of her hands, and he rubbed the back of her fingertips gently with his thumb. The moment wouldn’t last long, he knew that, and so he had to cherish it; this ability to look into her eyes and her look right back, her smile at him humorously without a trace of pity, all while her hand was beneath his, tucked in tight.

Finally, Temari wriggled her hand free, blushing—or at least he thought she was. It was probably just the cold. She shot him a gentle smile and stepped back, taking one final drag from the cigarette in her hand. “Shall I, um,” she faltered. “Shall I try and book you in some time this week? So we can talk before next Monday?”

“Yes.” He nodded a little too enthusiastically. “I’d, um, appreciate that.”

“I’ll text you if I can get it changed, okay? I’ll tell the receptionist to try at your parents request.”

He smiled. “Thank you.”

“I’ll, um…” Temari pointed at the gate they came through. “I’ll go.”

“If you need to,” he mumbled.

“Huh?”

Shikamaru shoved his hands in his pockets, shaking his head slowly. “Don’t worry, Tem.” He gave her a somewhat wounded look, worried she felt as awkward as he thought she did. “I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“Definitely.”

Waving, she spun around and paced toward the park entrance, and as he watched her walk away, her ponytail swishing violently, he started to slowly shuffle backwards. His body was doing all it could to stop him—to run after her and grab her hand and ask her to stay—but he could just about control his feet to move the other way, despite the reaching of hi stomach. He refused to turn around, praying that somehow, before she made it to the gate, she would turn around and come back. Still, he noticed his wishful thinking.

While she wasn’t running back, Temari did turn her head and smile at him, raising her hand slowly in a wave. By default, he raised his back, grinning in her general direction, even past the moment she span around and walked away. Fishing out of his pocket another smoke and his phone, he opened it up and began to type a message.

_‘Thank you for that, Tem. I needed that. Do you maybe want to go for coffee next—’_

For a second, he stopped, letting out a deep breath so warm to the cold air it rivalled his smoke clouds. Who was he kidding? He couldn’t ask her something like that! Not now, not ever.

So, with a heavy heart Shikamaru held down the backspace key and shuffled toward the other end of the park slowly. Maybe one day she’d realise, but he couldn’t hold out hope for that—her job was to help him, and he had no doubt that she would, but it didn’t make it any kinder on his heart that he couldn’t help her with her woes, too.


	11. The Cool Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaara waits up to listen to her, and despite everything, he can't help but egg her on.

When Temari got home, though she could hear the echoes of girly giggles and Kankuro’s laughter, the only one ready to greet her was Gaara. He sat, tucked up on the sofa, flicking the corners of the book in his hands, and when she came through the door his head whipped round to see her.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” he replied, a gentle smile on his face. “Was he okay?”

Temari frowned, forcing a fake laugh as she opened the fridge door. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Gaara. I told you: I went to the cafe.”

“And _I_  gave you his number to talk to him and you left the house like ten minutes later.” Gaara repositioned himself, leaning over the back of the sofa to stare at her, smirking. “Don’t lie to me.”

A feeling of immense shame washed over her. “Oh, Gaara,” she whined, “I couldn’t help it. He was just so helpless on the phone and I—”

“I know you just wanted to help him, don’t worry.” He waved her to come closer and, with a beer freshly swiped from the fridge, she obliged, plonking herself down next to him. “I won’t tell Kankuro.”

“You promise?”

“I promise, Temari.”

She gave him a thankful smiled and cracked open the cold can. “He is the nicest man I have ever met, Gaara.”

“Are you sure?” Fortunately the smile evident on his face shone through into his voice. “On the phone he seemed nice but, you know, kind of blunt.”

“Well, _he is_ ,” she agreed, putting her feet in Gaara’s lap, “but he’s so kind to me.”

Her brother took in a deep breath and immediately rolled his eyes. “You were smoking, weren’t you?”

“Don’t you dare get preachy, little brother! I am older and wiser than you and just because you’re so…good doesn’t mean you’ve not pushed the boat out.”

“I won’t, I won’t!” he laughed in reply. “I just wish you wouldn’t.”

“At least I’m not habitual; only social.”

“But this wasn’t a social calling, Tem. This was a professional consultation, right?”

Temari’s silent sipping of her beer as she averted her eyes to the silent pictures flashing across the TV spoke volumes. Nothing even needed to be said for Gaara to know she was hiding something.

“Okay, spit it out.”

Her head turned, a gaping mouth and frown across her expression. “What makes you say—”

“One, you’re a terrible liar; two, I’m your brother; and three, I’m a lawyer.”

“Not yet you’re not!”

“Doesn’t mean I haven’t got the skills, Tem.”

Gaara elbowed her shin and looked at her expectantly until her shoulders slowly softened. She took a big gulp of her beer and set it down on the table beside her, before fiddling with her hair excessively. “I don’t know, Gaara. I feel like I shouldn’t have gone.”

“Why? You helped him, right?”

She nodded. “He was happier when I left than when I arrived.”

“Aren’t we all?” joked Gaara, prompting his sister to quickly punch his arm.

“But seriously, you _bastard_. I don’t want to stop seeing him because I think I’ve finally put my finger on what’s wrong, but…” Temari rubbed the back of her neck, shivering at the touch of her cold fingertips and longing for another drag of one of Shikamaru’s cigarettes, as if it would ease all of her problems. “Well, I just could barely bring myself to leave him.”

“Because?” Gaara stared at her, trying to smile. “Because he seemed so lost?”

“No,” she sighed, angry at her own response. “Because he’s so…”

“Lost?”

“No! I just said no.”

Gaara huffed. “Please don’t say—”

“Yes, okay! Yes.” Temari flung her legs off of the sofa and buried her face in her hands. “I mean I’m not going to act on it, obviously, but he’s just so…”

“Hot?”

She almost laughed at the casual nature of her brother’s tone. “Well, yes but I wasn’t going to say that. I can’t think of the right word. He’s a bit of an ass, but he’s handsome has the purest of intentions.” She paused. “I don’t know. I guess he’s just…”

“A guy?”

Once again, Temari had to stop herself laughing. “Gaara, not all guys are like that. You know that.”

“Of course I do, but I thought that was the most ‘girl power’ response I could give.”

Her eyebrows raised. That was the most un—Gaara thing ever to leave his mouth.

“Look him up and find me a picture and we’ll see how handsome he really is.”

“Gaara…”

He chuckled. “Look, there’s nothing that says that if you stop treating him _I_  can’t sleep with him.”

“That is sibling rivalry gone _too far_.”

“Or is it just initiative?”

Temari loved it when Gaara acted this way. Ever since he had come out as bisexual a few years back, Gaara had been happier than ever, and it was always interesting for her to listen to what he thought about her boyfriends as well as what he thought of Kankuro’s girlfriends. So far Gaara had decided Temari’s taste was slightly better—though that might’ve been due to his particular dislike for Kankuro’s poet-girlfriend.

Still, despite how much she adored when his personality sort of shifted into excitement when people spoke about attractiveness, she almost didn’t want to show him Shikamaru—if she even could.

“I, um, don’t think he’ll have a Facebook page or anything.”

“Temari,” he said, firmly but with a loving smile. “I’m joking. You know I’m joking.”

“Hmm…”

Gaara crossed his arms. “I am a good brother, Temari.”

“The last guy I thought something might happen with saw you in the pub before we could meet up formally, and you made out with him!”

“I didn’t know that he was _him_!”

“Doesn’t matter,” she insisted, desperately holding back giggles. “Doesn’t change that if he’s anyone’s, Shikamaru is mine.”

The room went eerily silent as the pair processed exactly what she’d just stared, and while Gaara knew the right thing to do was to scold his sister—tell her no and to stop seeing the guy before her feelings grew in the way—there was a light in her eyes that made that part of his brain just switch off. Instead a great big smile grew on his face.

“You’re happy, aren’t you?” he asked, nudging her with his elbow. “Seeing him and talking to him makes you really happy, doesn’t it?”

Silently and full of embarrassment, Temari nodded slowly.

“Don’t be embarrassed, Tem.” Gaara shuffled closer her put his arm against hers, pushing her playfully. “I’m the cool brother. You’ve seen me do wrong things and you’ve never told on me. I won’t tell on you.”

She turned, biting her lip. “If any of us ever have kids, you are one-hundred going to be the weird uncle. Just listen to yourself.”

He ignored her. “What is this guy’s full name?”

“Shikamaru Nara.”

“Nara, Nara…” Gaara toyed with the name, smirking. “Temari N—”

“Gaara, _no_!” She put her hand over his mouth. “You’re like a teenage girl, just stop it, yeah? Besides, its unethical. He’s been my patient; things like that can’t ever happen.”

“And what you did seeing him tonight wasn’t unethical?”

Temari took in a sharp breath. “No. Like you said, I was helping him. It was wrong because it’s friend-like, but that’s what he needs.”

“Why is it unethical to sleep with him?”

“Gaara, you know that! You literally studied a case in which this happened!”

Gaara remained serious. “Really, Tem, why?”

“Because within the depths of his brain I’m ultimately considered his guardian or guide through his struggles. Deep down, I’m nothing more than that.” He voice was low, and almost full of hurt to the point that Gaara didn’t want her to speak anymore.

He put his arm round her and sighed. “If he feels for you something other than that, why is that wrong?”

“Because it just is, Gaara, I don’t know!” Again her face fell and her hands rubbed it violently. “It doesn’t matter what I feel or what he feels, he’s a patient. What if by some chance we both went out for a while and then I split up with him? That would deteriorate his mental health immensely, because I’m mostly a shoulder to cry on.”

“But—”

“No, even if we thought he’d got better first, the fact that he’d want me in his life still would be a testament to the fact that he _isn’t_  better!”

Gaara grew silently and simply pulled her closer. Her head lulled, falling onto his shoulder without thought, and she felt her eyes begin to well up.

“It doesn’t matter, anyway,” she added, chewing on her own lip. “To him, I am his therapist. There is no chance that, even if he thinks I’m not ugly, he would ever feel anything for me.”

With a gulp, Gaara mustered, “And if he did?”

To which all she could reply with, choking back her tears and desires, was, “I would turn him down.”


	12. Deep Rooted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A nerve is hit, but maybe it's for the best.

“I can’t believe it’ll be February next this time next week,” said the kind older gentlemen that had sat on the couch before her for the last hour, rambling as she tried her best to listen. “Strange, isn’t it? How fast the years go by?”

Temari couldn’t do much but smile and nod, just about formulating a sentence amongst the worry that scurried through her mind. “So far I’ve done nothing this year. Apart from working here, of course.”

He smiled, putting on his gloves and hat and heading for the door. “At least you’re busy, darlin’,” he chuckled. “Shall I come back next week?”

“You come back whenever you’re ready to, sir.”

The smile grew. “You’re a lovely young lady.”

“That’s very kind of you.” Temari hopped to her feet and rubbed the back of her neck anxiously. “I’ll see you soon.”

“That you will.”

As he edged the door closed behind him, Temari immediately ran to the shelf, grabbing wildly at papers until she uncovered the chess board that was somewhere beneath them. With one big pull, she ripped it from it’s home and let it and the pieces that sat with it fall onto the coffee table with a clatter, hoping that nothing was broken. With a quick check at the time—two fifty-seven—she rushed back to her desk and stared in the reflection her phone gave, adjusting her hair slightly.

She had worn it down today, something she hadn’t done in ages and something she’d definitely not yet done to work. Something in her vowed to look professional, and her somewhat unruly blonde locks made her feel anything but professional. However, after the other night, when she woke up this crisp Friday morning she had one thought: _fuck it_. She wasn’t being professional in far worse ways than a smart hairstyle; that extra five minutes in bed was worth it.

Then again, here she stood, staring in the pathetic excuse of a reflection a battery-dead phone had to offer and staring at the thick hair that surrounded her face. Groaning, she began to loosen the hair tie on her wrist, biting on her lip as she grabbed at her hair, trying to pull it up into its usual ponytail.

“You don’t have to do that just for me, Tem; I know putting it up is such a drag.”

Her head shot up and she couldn’t hide the slight smirk that appeared on her face. “I’m glad they let you know someone had cancelled. I was almost expecting a free hour, hence the—”

“Hence the hair fixing.” She thought she saw him smiling, and was only certain when she saw his eyes shift downwards, fixated on the board placed between them. “If you didn’t think I was coming, then how come you, um…”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she lied, running her fingers through her hair to straighten out it a little.

“Were you hoping I was coming?”

Temari scoffed, raising her eyebrows and shifting her gaze. “Yeah, right.”

“Good.” Shikamaru sounded unsurprised and, as usual, kind of bored, but that didn’t stop him flopping down on the couch and slipping off his usual black hoodie to reveal the obnoxious floral number he’d worn on Monday. “So we’re playing?”

“You look cold,” she remarked, barely listening. “I know you have a coat, Shikamaru, why don’t you wear it?”

“I dunno. It’s a pain—too chunky. Now, I believe it was _my_  turn to ask you shit.”

She didn’t answer him, just sighed. “You should wrap up warmer. You’ll get sick.”

“I’m in the shop all day. Besides, it doesn’t matter.”

“It does. I don’t want you to get sick.”

Shikamaru raised his eyebrows and fiddled with the tie of his ponytail. “Excuse me?”

Temari’s cheeks grew an angry red as she huffed and turned away. “ _Don’t_. I’m just trying to be nice.”

“You _are_  nice,” he corrected. “And I’m fine. Nobody needs to worry about me.”

“Well,” laughed Temari, shooting him a condescending look when he spun around, “take a look at where you are before you say that.”

He merely nodded in response and began to set up the pieces, haphazardly and busily. Temari couldn’t help but see a certain change in his eyes; a shift in warmth and ease from the last time she’d seen him, from when they’d shared that cigarette. And, as she moved closer she noticed the smell of smoke that usually radiated from him had eased up.

“You haven’t smoked yet today, have you?”

He raised his eyebrows, groaning. “Wow, am I _that_  obviously on edge?”

“Only to a trained eye,” she shrugged, “or somebody who knows you quite well.” She thought she saw him flash a grin and pass it off as a grimace. “Besides, the smell isn’t nearly as potent as Tuesday.”

“It won’t be,” he retorted. “I was wearing my big coat, which, as you _so_  kindly said, _reeks_  of smoke.”

“It isn’t a bad thing.”

He raised his eyes and stared her down, expressionless. “I know.” Immediately he shifted back to setting up the board as though nobody was around. “You’re not wrong, obviously. I didn’t have enough to pay for this session _and_  another carton of cigarettes, or a pack of tobacco, so—”

“If coming here is drying you up and stressing you out, Shikamaru, you don’t need to come.”

“Thank you for the sentiment, Temari, but…” He placed the final piece down and leant back with a heavy sigh. “But I most certainly do. I’d be much more stressed if I wasn’t coming here.”

 _Good,_  she found herself thinking. _Because I wouldn’t give up seeing you if it killed me…_

“ _I_  was the one asking questions,” she insisted, changing the subject as she sat down opposite him. “Hence we got into the, um…”

“Oh, yeah—the dark shit.”

“Yeah. The ‘dark shit’.” Temari smiled. “I’m never going to get used to how blunt you are.”

“Me neither.”

She snorted, covering her mouth to try and stifle the laugh and failing miserably.

“Go on then,” he urged, pointing at the board. “Play the game and get the questions over with.”

Temari reached toward the board and made her opening move. “Well, I only have a few but I’m very interested to know the answers.”

He didn’t look up from the board. “No shit.”

“Okay, okay,” she groaned. “I’ll get on with it. First one: I assume you’ve been diagnosed with depression by previous therapists given that you, um…took medication.”

“Yes. Obviously.” He still wasn’t looking at her as she spoke, and it was making her hands quiver with exasperation. His knight jumped over his pawns into play, something he did often—she’d have to take note of how much he favoured it if she wanted to be tactical more often.

“Okay, but have you been diagnosed with anything else at all?”

“Just mental or?”

“Physical illnesses, too, I suppose—those can put immense strain on the mind.”

Shikamaru shrugged, rubbing his palms together absentmindedly. “Anxiety, which I almost agree with. And my doctor reckoned I had chronic fatigue, but nah.”

“By ‘but nah’ do you mean you don’t or just that you _don’t agree_?”

He didn’t need to look up for her to see the sarcastic grin on his lips. “Nah, I don’t. I blame the depression.”

“You know, I think you’re equally as anxious as you are depressed.” Temari thrust her bishop half way across the board, keeping her eyes down; playing him at his own game. “Hence you feel so thrown when others aren’t happy.”

“I can’t say I agree.”

“Do you have a degree in this?”

Shikamaru looked up, chuckling. “No.”

“So shut up.”

Oh, he did. Instantly his eyes were locked on her as she refused to meet his eyes, focussed on the board before her. He couldn’t help but stare at the jagged waves that cascaded down her shoulders and feathered out at the ends, almost grazing the board. What was worse was that he couldn’t help but imagine grabbing that hair and listening to the sound she might’ve made when he did.

Shikamaru quickly stopped his train of thought, throwing his hoodie into his lap and coughing uncomfortably. Now, _that_  was the most embarrassing thought he’d ever had.

“Sorry,” he choked out. “But really. I don’t have panic attacks, or anything like that. Maybe I get on edge and more nervous than your average dude, but do I actually? Inside any guy’s head they might feel the same, and I might just suck at keeping it in.”

Temari bit down on her lip. “I don’t know. You want everyone to be happy. You said so on Tuesday, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” He quickly reached for any piece to continue the game, barely taking his eyes off of her to move it. “And?”

“Well, I do, too. But not like you do,” she began. “Shikamaru, you struggle separating other’s emotions from your own, and it ends up consuming you, doesn’t it?”

“I, um—”

“If I were to get upset right now, would you feel responsible?”

Shikamaru’s mouth fell open, gagging for the right words. “I…well, I don’t know…”

“If for some reason, unknown to you, I started to cry would you feel it your responsibility to make me feel better? Would you feel like you owed it to me?”

“Well, yeah I guess—”

“Right.” Her head shot up, piercing teal eyes locked on his within the blink of an eye. “And why?”

He faltered, bundling up the clothing in his lap and biting on his lip.

“Why would you feel the need too help me?”

“Because you help me? I do owe you for that.” He didn’t sound convinced by himself, but how could he? This intense version of the woman before him was totally new to him, and he had no idea how to feel about it right now.

Temari simply shook her head and made her next move. “But you don’t, Shikamaru. You pay me—that’s all your end of this needs you to do.”

“But, I—”

“You’re too nice.”

“That’s not a mental illness, though.”

“No,” she agreed, “but it makes you vulnerable.”

Shikamaru sat back, his hands in his lap and eyebrows furrowed in despair. “The fuck has gotten into you?”

She sighed. “I’m sorry, I just thought that maybe you were just like my brother, and—”

“I’m not.” Her wide eyes focussed in on the water that was threatening to spill from his waterline. “I’m sorry, but I’m not your little brother, Temari.”

“I know, I just—”

“Yes, I feel obliged to help people, yes I feel responsible for their happiness, but I don’t have a reason for that; not like he does!”  Shikamaru’s hands fell in fists in his lap as he leant forward. “My existence didn’t kill anyone, nobody was ever horrible to me, I didn’t have any problems with myself whatsoever. One day I woke up, and suddenly I felt like nothing I did was good enough. At first I didn’t care—what did it matter? But then I thought more about it and realised it did.”

“At first I thought it was about the thing with your dad wanting you to be in the forces,” admitted Temari, sighing loudly. “But it doesn’t add up if that was resolved soon after.” She paused. “When did it actually start?”

“I guess it was when I was sixteen.”

“School bad?”

“Nope.”

“Nobody died?”

Shikamaru shuddered, and Temari noticed immediately.

“I’m sorry, was that callous?”

He shook his head, making a move on the board silently. “No, I just realised something.”

“What?”

“Well, I know it sounds dumb, but my teacher was in a car accident when I was sixteen—just after I’d done all my exams that year.”

“Math teacher?”

He rubbed his eyes. “Yeah. Math teacher.”

She gulped. “He didn’t…did he?”

“Oh, yeah,” he muttered, trying his best to smile through it. “He wasn’t quite thirty and his wife was pregnant…it was quite the tragedy, honestly.”

Temari felt her throat growing tight.

“I remember his wife coming into school and asking to see me and giving me the biggest hug in the world.” He finally looked up at her, tears shamelessly rolling down his cheeks as he choked out his words. “She told me that he thought of me like his son, or nephew—whatever. And I could only tell her how sorry I was, and that I’d go and help her whenever she needed someone. I didn’t have anything else to say, you know? I felt numb, I felt…”

The blonde reached across the board, hoping he’d take the hand she offered, but he ignored it.

“I felt nothing,” he added. “Like a blank slate. And that made me feel _worse_  because here was this woman who’d lost her husband, and this unborn kid who’d never know their father and I was just stood there as though my world had ended. I didn’t go out, didn’t do work, didn’t speak to nearly anyone for weeks.” He scrunched at his ponytail. “I guess I saw him as family in the end.”

Temari retracted her hand and sighed, quickly wiping her eyes before the young man would recognise her tears. “I’m sorry, Shikamaru.”

“It’s fine, Tem. It was years ago.”

“But it’s not fine. It still hurts you. He was your idol; your father figure despite having a father of your own anyway—it makes sense you’d feel lost without him.” She slowly rose to her feet and stepped round behind her desk scribbling a couple of quick notes on a sheet of paper. “Can I ask you a couple of things about him?” She took the faint nod through his silent tears as enough agreement, and threw a packet of tissues his way, smiling sweetly. “What was his name?”

“Mr Sarutobi.”

“Come on; if he said what he said to his wife surely you two were on first names.”

He nodded again, rubbing his cheeks dry vigourously. “Asuma,” he corrected. “His name was Asuma.”

“And did you ever help out his wife?”

This question was met with a shrug. “I left some flowers on her doorstep once, but I forgot to sign the card.”

“Did she ask you to help her ever?”

Shikamaru whimpered slightly, but squeezed shut his eyes as if it would strengthen his entire being. “Dozens of times, but I always lied and said I was busy.”

“Why?”

“I couldn’t face that kid—I couldn’t stand the thought of feeling the way I did and then seeing someone who _actually deserved_  to feel that way.”

“Shikamaru,” tried Temari, patiently, “you deserved to feel that way, _too_.”

As often was the case, he ignored her. “I still have my Dad and I’d have the nerve to look after that little girl and feel like I’d lost him, when she really had? Tem, I couldn’t do that.”

“I lost my mum,” she whispered, “and I’m okay. Gaara never knew Mum, and he’s more okay about her being gone than Kankuro is, and not just because of the therapy. Not to sound like a bitch, because that’s the last thing I want to do, but it’s often easier for people to adjust when they never knew any different. This little girl, like I did, grew up without a parent, but while I’m sure she’d had many a deserved-crisis about it, she didn’t have to adjust to the shift in him being there and then gone.”

“You do sound like a bitch.”

“Ask Gaara,” she shot back. “He’ll agree with me. I’m over Mum dying, but only because its been over twenty years. Maybe she isn’t the same—everybody is different, but I’m sure she would’ve understood, as would his wife.”

“I really don’t think so.”

Convinced that getting that point through to him was for now a lost cause, Temari rallied up her final question, nervously digging her nails into her palms. “Okay, last one,” she started, sitting back down and moving a chess piece without thought. “I don’t understand how it’s the fourth time we’ve talked about your mental health in depth and this is only surfacing now.”

He shrugged.

“Did you try to forget about it?”

“I suppose…”

“Did you tell the ones before me about him?”

“Maybe, once or twice, but they thought it wasn’t all that important so—”

“I can’t believe they wouldn’t have acted on it. Shikamaru, I think I have an idea how to start getting you rewired and—”

“Check mate.”

It was an embarrassingly small amount of moves in which to lose, and if it weren’t for the weight on his chest Shikamaru surely would’ve taken the piss out of her for it. However, no such play ensued; he didn’t have the life in him to laugh at her or pretend she wasn’t incredible. Because she was: she was remarkable, even in these last ten minutes where she’d fired questions at him constantly until she hit the bullseye right through his heart.

And here he was now, his soul pinned to the chair and slowly fading away into a wave of sadness, but he couldn’t stop staring into her eyes. Her gaze was so warming and full of life he felt like nothing he ever did would be worthy of her watching him with them, yet he found himself glued to the spot he sat in, chin rested on palm as he planned is next move; in this moment there was nothing for him to lose other than maybe her as a therapist, but that was just the way it was. So many emotions were flooding him right now why not let one out into the open? Maybe it would ease the water levels he was almost choking on.

“Your turn then,” she mumbled, smiling in a desperate attempt for him to mirror her, almost aware that that was a fantasy at this point. “Ask away.”

He only had one question, and he already knew the answer before it came out of his mouth, nonchalant yet laced with sadness. Still, he had to ask. He could play it off as a joke if it all went south, but until it did, it was worth a shot.

“So, um, Tem, I know it’s a drag and all, but, well…” He faltered as he swiped something from the board before him, throwing the king of his colour across, waiting until it landed with a thud in her palms.

She tossed the piece up and down to look at it, frowning when he attention turned back to him. “Well what, Shikamaru?”

He gulped, and bit down on his lip for the millionth time she’d seen. “If it’s not too troublesome, would you be up for going out for a drink sometime?”


	13. Sacrificial Knight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Temari has an inward back and forth about what to do about Shikamaru's question. Meanwhile Shikamaru has a bit of a brainwave.

He stared at her blindly, endlessly hoping for the answer he knew was impossible to slip from her lips. An answer to a simple closed question stood between making or breaking his day—week, even! And, as much as he understood that there was inevitably only one answer, he could already feel his heart dropping and a pit opening in his stomach.

“I, um…” Temari stammered through the start of a pitiful sentence; one that any fool could see she hadn’t thought out at all. Like him, she was embarrassed by the silence to the extreme, and was desperate to pull herself together, but it just wasn’t that easy.

There he sat before her, totally at her mercy, and she couldn’t pull her eyes from him. Across his chin was the faintest remains of black stubble growing back, and red around his dark eyes. He hadn’t asked for a tissue, nor had he bothered to shave this morning. There was soil on his knee, and ink all up the side of his right hand. It was undeniable; the guy was a mess.

So why the hell did that slight smile, smothered in pity, let her ignore all the things that her dad would’ve seen as red lights.

Suddenly their eyes were locked, and for a moment neither of them had an escape rope from the gaze. Here, trapped in his line of sight, she felt more desperate than ever to hop down on the sofa beside him, throw her arms around his lanky frame, and agree a thousand times over. He knew better than to ask such questions—he’d had therapist upon therapist before her. This was completely taboo.

Which had to go and make it all the more exciting, didn’t it?

“Um, w-wait a second.” Temari jumped to her feet and squeezed her fists together nervously. “I, um…” She tripped over her feet, stumbling as she hurried round her desk to her back and rooting around, mumbling to herself until her phone was in her palm.

When she looked up, he wasn’t even looking at her, too consumed in his own thoughts, and Temari almost didn’t want to break the tension. But someone had to, and it _should_  be her.

“Okay, I’m going to be very unprofessional right now and take a phone call.”

He looked up, eyebrows raised. “As if this situation isn’t already as unprofessional as it can be?”

She laughed, very falsely and almost whimpering underneath the bright white smile. “I’ll be back. Don’t go anywhere.”

 _Trust me,_  he thought, rolling his eyes, _I won’t._

* * *

 

“Hello?”

“Gaara?”

Temari’s voice echoed, bouncing off of the bathroom walls and right back at her. This was the first time she personally was grateful for the house-conversion of the practice she worked at, and it’s necessity for privacy in everyway—even using the bathroom, apparently.

“Temari?” Gaara’s voice was frantic. “W-What’s wrong? It’s the middle of the day! I’m meant to be in class.”

“And _I’m_  at work,” she retorted, barely thinking. “I’m sorry, but Gaara I need you.”

“Are you hurt? The next bus into town is in twenty minutes—I can probably be with you in like forty—”

“No, Gaara. I’m fine. Well, I’m not, but I’m not hurt.”

There was a sigh down the phone. “What have you done?”

Temari gulped. “Don’t shame me.”

“Don’t shame you?” he forced a laugh, clearly bitter. “Temari, is there anything to shame you for?” He paused before, very seriously adding, “You haven’t...you know...had _sex_ with him, have you?”

“No! Of course not!” she scoffed. “Why do you have to say it like that?”

”I’m sorry. How else was I to say it?”

She paused, frowning and pressing her back against the wall. “Why was _that_  your first thought? Do you have no faith in me?”

“Honestly?”

Her silence was enough to answer him.

“Not really.”

“Gaara!”

“Don’t get offended,” he chuckled. “But please forget I said that. Tell me what’s wrong.”

She stared down at the checked tiles of the bathroom floor and she couldn’t help but envisage it, the usual; his knight leaping over his pawns, knocking down her queen to the dust and defeating her.

“Tem?”

Her body jolted and she almost dropped her phone. Never before had she been so clumsy. “Sorry,” she whimpered. “Gaara, he asked me to go for a drink with him.”

“And you said no?”

Once again, a couple of seconds of silence, accompanied by a weak wince, said everything.

“You didn’t say no.”

“I couldn’t, Gaara. He’s just…I don’t know. I don’t even know what I fancy about him?” Her hand ran through her hair. “Dad would’ve _hated_  him.”

“Sounds perfect.”

“Gaara!” She knew he wasn’t joking, and it made her almost giggle 

“Right, I’m sorry.” There was distant chatter down the phone, and Temari realised how much of his time she was taking up, but before she could say anything, Gaara continued, “Did you say yes, then?”

“I didn’t say anything. I just stammered and ran away. Now we are here.”

“You’ve got to say no, as much as I would like you to have a _good go_  with  him, if you know what I mean.”

“Well, _yuck_ , Gaara.”

“I only want what’s best for you,” he replied, gently delivering his words. “You’re slightly cranky.”

“Because I have to live with you.”

Gaara’s laugh was distant but undeniable. “Tell him no,” he finally said, voice still laced with giggles.

Temari couldn’t help but feel herself deflate at his answer. “I have to, don’t I?”

“We already talked about this, remember?” the young man sighed down the phone, losing some of his more chipper tone. “You said you’d say no to him.”

“I did?”

“You did.”

“I did…”

“You’ve got to. You’re a strong woman, Temari, and you said so yourself; for ethics.”

She nodded, aware he couldn’t see her, and blinked hard to avoid the almost-tears letting loose. “For ethics.”

“You okay now?”

_Not at all._

“Yeah,” she lied. “Sorry. You’re right. Get back to class.”

“If you’re not okay, Tem, I can stay on the phone.”

“It’s fine.”

It was clearly false, but Gaara knew his persistence would get him nowhere. “Okay. I’ll see you tonight.”

“See you…”

The line went dead, and her insides felt torn.

When she raised her eyes from the floor she saw herself in the mirror; her wild blonde hair and lavender blouse—that she now noticed had an ink-stain on near the waistband of her skirt, which she sneakily tucked further in—were quite a picture, but Temari wasn’t sure it was the prettiest of them. _Let’s be real here, Temari,_  she thought, phone still clutched close to her ear despite the silence on the other end. _You just ran out of the room to go hide in the bathroom and call your_ little brother _for help. Even if you could say yes, he might’ve changed his mind by now._

There was no other answer; she had to say no.

* * *

 

He was in somewhat of a crisis, toying with the zip of his hoodie in his lap; back and forth, back and forth, hoping desperately that with each swipe he’d be a little more at peace with what was coming, but that peace never came. He reached into the pocket of his jeans and grabbed his lighter—his most treasured lighter—and began to flick it. When he did this at home his mother would storm over and snatch it out of his hand, complaining about the irritating noise, and for the first time he almost wished she was here to do so, because he just couldn’t stop himself.

It had finally dawned on him, in the time that felt like hours that he’d been waiting for her return, that either way this was the end. If she said yes, this was over—he’d have to find a new therapist and be shamed by anyone who knew _she_ was his therapist. He’d have to listen to his mother and father, or more specifically his mother, scorn him for his actions; his feelings.

And if she said no…it didn’t bear thinking about what he’d have to do if she said no. The concept was so close to a set fact, that his refusal to simply walk out of the room now before any further damage was done was dangerous. If she said no, she’d probably tell him to find a new therapist and he’d never get better, and worst of all he’d never see her again. Unless he went down the pub with Chōji every Friday and sat at the bar, hoping to see her come and buy too many drinks to carry, but that was weird—that was something a creep would do, and it required far too much effort and taxi money that he didn’t have.

Right now he could’ve done with a cigarette. Maybe he could’ve convinced her to come out and smoke it with him, shared it like they had the other night. Wasn’t that moment special to her like it was for him? Hadn’t she looked at his dumb face, somehow better in the moonlight and the high of teenage-type secrecy, and dawned upon his radiance, like he had on hers?

Of course not; he wasn’t radiant. He _knew_  he wasn’t; not like Temari undoubtedly. Shikamaru rubbed his face viscously, focussing on the eyes so they didn’t leak nearly as much as they wanted to, but he couldn’t help squeezing out a few tears. There was _something_ he could do to sway her, but it was insane and even the mere thought of the idea made him feel it. He was seconds away from texting Chōji, for no discernible reason other than that he was his only friend, and maybe he’d shed some light on the vile situation at hand and tell him how stupid he was.

But just as he fished his phone from his pocket, the behind him creaked open and he frantically dropped it into his lap, trying his best to wipe away the remaining tears. Temari’s boots barely tapped as she shuffled round the side of him and stood by her desk, throwing her own phone down. Her own eyes were circled by red, he couldn’t ignore it, and he could only think that _that_  was his fault, but here they were now with absolutely nothing he could do to take it back.

Amidst the silence, she bite down on her lip as she finally saw Shikamaru’s expression, and he recognised quite how gorgeous she truly was—her skirt hugging her hips, her legs so long and luscious, the way that when she rubbed the back of her neck she blushed right across her nose. But then suddenly all that flashed across his mind was her all wrapped up in her winter coat, a bundle of smiles and scarves, her nose all red from the cold. Her tighter clothes today, while undoubtedly stunning were nothing compared to the symphony of giggles and thankful smiles she’d sent his way the other night, and it was that made him want to cry even more.

What he wouldn’t do to flash back to then, to how dazzling her eyes were in the moonlight just to avoid, however beautiful they may be, quite how pitiful they were right now.

She smirks a little, running her hands through her hair constantly. “You’re quite the crier, aren’t you?” she asked, desperate to break the silence.

“It’s not your turn to ask questions.” He gulped. “You’re meant to be answering them.”

“Okay, Crybaby.”

He couldn’t bring himself to smile, but oh, how he wanted to. All he could muster was to send her a somewhat expectant look, perfectly aware that he most likely looked like a dying animal, desperate to be put out of it’s misery. “Tem, I know you can’t say yes,” he mumbled, swiping the tears from his cheeks. “Even if you wanted you, you couldn’t. So ignore me, yeah? I’m just a pain—forget I said it.”

“Shikamaru—”

“Nah, I’m an idiot. I know the protocols at this point, and I know you could get fired, so yeah…forget it.” He could feel his nails getting ever deeper into the palms of his hands as his fists balled tighter and tighter.

“Shikamaru, I…” Temari paused, closing her eyes and recalling her call with Gaara. She knew what she had to do, there was only one option. “No,” she sighed, her voice quivering after I long pause, “I can’t.”

“I just said forget—”

“I know, and I said no, Shikamaru.”

Shikamaru looked down at his hands, biting down so hard on his lip it began to hurt. “ _I know_.”

Temari couldn’t help but feel herself growing softer the more she looked at his sad little face, but she forced herself to stand strong. “I’m doing the right thing; I’m helping you, and I’m trying to be a good friend.” She saw immediately how deep his frown was when his head shot up, making her admit, excruciatingly, “I know you didn’t mean a friendly drink, and I’m sorry. But you need to get better more than you need a date with your therapist.”

“No,” he argued, almost laughing with the most vile bitter tone she’d heard spill from his mouth. “I _need_  your company above all of it, Temari. One way or another I need it. That’s why I asked; the moment I walked in here, lied to you and you swore at me, and—quite frankly—I was hooked.”

“Shikamaru…”

He raised his eyebrows and shrugged, shaking his head slowly. “I’m not going to lie, am I? Isn’t it already obvious I’m embarrassing myself? And now I’m having to explain myself—fuck, _I’m not good at this_.”

“Shikamaru,” managed the blonde as she fought back innocent giggles, “have you ever actually asked a girl out?”

He paused, silent, and avoided her eyes once more.

“Or guy,” she added, nervously, perfectly aware of and trying to forget about her own brother’s interest in meeting the young man. “It’s just you don’t seem to get it.”

“Get what?”

There was no point hiding her need to laugh at his hopelessness anymore. “Blimey. You sure are fucking thick for a genius, aren’t you?”

 _Careful, or else I might just have you kiss you,_  he thought, stopping himself from leaping to his feet and rushing over to her. “Just explain, you troublesome woman.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” She hoisted herself up and sat on her desk, her perfectly shaped legs captivating him once more, almost as much as the look in her eyes, so warm and so painfully pitiful.

It wasn’t obvious; it was absolutely _excruciating_.

“Shikamaru, I can’t say yes. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to.”

“Well, that makes everything worse, doesn’t it?”

“I suppose it does, yeah.” She closed her eyes and look a deep breath. “Even if you were better, I—”

“Tem,” he said firmly, getting to his feet and throwing his hoodie over his shoulders. “I don’t feel better because of the therapy. I feel better because of _you_.”

“That just isn’t true, Shikamaru.”

“It _is_.” He shook his head and shoved his hands into his pockets, clearly reaching for a cigarette and, upon finding nothing, shrugging. “But if you don’t believe me I guess that’s the end of that.”

She frowned, adjusting her legs slightly, very aware of how short her skirt was when she sat like this. “What do you mean by that?”

Shikamaru’s thumb motioned toward the door. “I mean, I suppose that’s me in need of a new therapist now.”

“Um, no,” laughed Temari, her commanding tone echoing through his head like a rattle. “Why would you say _that_?”

“Because I just asked you out, and that has totally corrupted the legitimacy of our conduct, and—”

“Shikamaru,” she pleaded, her boots landing on the wood with a loud _tap_  as she hopped off her desks and stalked towards him, hips swaying like the wind was taking them. “Using big words won’t change the fact that the legitimacy of our conduct was already corrupted.”

He frowned at her mocking tone and pointed a finger at her, seemingly confused. “You mean…”

“You _know_  what I mean,” she mumbled, stopping about a metre from him, a blushing mess as she adjusted her hair. “I will help you, hence I can’t say yes and so—”

“So you want to?”

“What?”

“Have a drink with me?”

Temari scoffed. “Yes, _obviously_!”

“ _Check mate._ ”

The smirk he gave her was lethal, and she felt almost sick to her stomach as he scurried towards the door, never turning his back on her, the smug look never ceasing. He began making a phone with his hand, putting it to his ear and mouthing, ‘Call me!’ in a highly animated fashion, and before she could shout at him to come back he was gone. _God_ , how she wanted to run outside and scream at him, but she couldn’t afford make a scene; nobody could know this had ever happened.

He’d just walked out while they still had thirty minutes left of their session; thirty minutes he’d paid for and hadn’t used. Then again, he’d played her, and now she was sure those thirty minutes would be made up for _somehow_.

So characteristically as he played he had jumped right in and let himself appear sacrificed, just to at the last minute put his knife to her queen’s throat. He was, no doubt, always more moves ahead than Temari cared to consider, but feeling herself backed into a corner in real life as well as on the board? She couldn’t deny she almost liked it.

In theory she could’ve spent the next thirty minutes calling him and telling him no; this was stupid, unprofessional and ultimately impossible, so they mustn’t go ahead with it.

In reality she spent the next thirty minutes desperately brainstorming how the hell she was going to explain this to Gaara when she got home. Or if she even _would_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol. yeah right - as if Shikamaru wasn't going to use her own words against her.


	14. Relief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Separately, the pair think on the days actions, with a little interference from those around them.

Shikamaru leant with his back against the cold, brick wall of the pub, waiting for Chōji to come out on his break, restlessly tapping his foot. His whole body felt colder just knowing that in moments he could feel that warmth surge through his body that he’d longed for since he woke up. Despite undeniably having a fruitful Friday afternoon, as the dark of the evening loomed over him, the young man needed a pick me up.

She hadn’t called yet.

Just on time to stop Shikamaru drowning in his own thoughts, his chubbier friend jumped down the steps and round the corner, throwing him his long awaited pack of cigarettes with a great big, friendly smile.

“Cheers,” grinned Shikamaru, hastily catching the carton and fishing his lighter from his pocket.

“Man, you should’ve just come in.”

He put the cigarette between his lips, shaking his head. “Can’t risk Temari’s brother being in there. I don’t know what it is about him, cause I’m sure he’s a pretty reasonable bloke but…” He stuffed the carton into his pocket and shrugged. “I dunno, I guess I’m a wimp.”

“Sounds about right,” laughed Chōji, watching as his friend grew more unimpressed by the second. “I’m kidding, man; lighten up!

Shikamaru couldn’t help but morph his unappreciative look into a fond smile when he caught the eye of his cheeky friend. “Yes. Us depressives just _love_  to be told to lighten up,” chuckled Shikamaru, eyebrows raised as he immediately lit the cigarette between his lips. When Chōji began to look guilty, rubbing his hands together for the cold, Shikamaru sighed and continued. “I, too, Chōji, am kidding.”

Almost immediately, the life returned to his friend’s eyes and he bounced toward him, desperate to say warmed. “How’s it all going then? She cracked you yet?”

“Who?”

“Don’t play dumb, smart-ass. Therapist with the scary brother.”

“I don’t know. She’s pretty switched on, and I think she reckons she has, but I dunno.

“What do you mean ‘ _you_  don’t know’, Shikamaru?” laughed Chōji. “You _always_  know.”

“Not with her man, she’s confusing.” He took another drag, and the sweet bliss of it made him think _very strongly_  about how dependent he was on the things; maybe he shouldn’t have grown so hooked on them. Inevitably, however, nothing was going to change.

“Your dad did tell me she beat you at chess when I went round earlier to see if you were in. Gotta admit, man, that’s impressive. Nobody’s beaten you since we were kids.”

He nodded, staring at the smoke that escaped his lips. “Yep,” he agreed sheepishly.

“Then again, I can see why you let her win.”

Shikamaru felt himself frowning and had to turn to look at him, surprised by his friend’s answer. “What?”

“Man, don’t kid yourself. You’re a con artist—it was her first day and you wanted to make her feel empowered, didn’t you?”

“I’m _not_  a con-artist! She was talking about her dead parents and I was kinda a bit…put off.”

“Bullshit.”

“Chōji…”

“Shikamaru, nobody knows how to make people feel falsely like they’ve won but you,” Chōji reasoned, grinning. “You’ve made Ino feel like she’s the one who didn’t want to date _you_  whenever she’s asked you out. You always tricked me into thinking I could win when we played games as kids, and yet you’d always beat me despite that. You’re wasted as a florist.”

Shikamaru shook his head, chuckling as he kicked at the wet leaves on the pavement. “I’m not a florist.”

“You arrange and sell flowers. You’re a florist.”

The taller man tutted, rolling his eyes. “You’re such a drag.”

“Tell me I’m wrong. You get a kick out of it, don’t you?”

“I don’t get a kick out of much, man. And I definitely don’t get a kick out of beating people.”

“Yes it is, man. You make people feel empowered. It’s _that_  which gives you the kick, not the winning.”

“Chōji, I don’t do that.” The subject was making him uncomfortable, mostly because he’d done that very same thing to Temari today, and the idea that he’d _conned_  a woman into going out with him felt _weird_  to say the least.

Chōji knew at this point he wasn’t getting anywhere, so he clapped and threw himself against the wall to get Shikamaru’s undivided attention. “Okay, forget the fact you deliberately lost and don’t want to admit it; tell me what’s new.”

Sheepishly, Shikamaru took a long drag and mumbled into his scarf, “Well, I’m probably meeting someone for coffee tomorrow night.”

“A girl?”

He could see his friend’s eyes lit up, but he just couldn’t bring himself to engage in the excitement. “Yes, Chōji.”

“At night?” he asked, confused.

“Yup. I don’t really do alcohol, Chōj.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” the brunette chuckled, waving it off.  “ _You’ve_  got a date! You mean you finally said yes to someone.”

 _Or got someone to say yes to me,_  he mentally corrected, groaning audibly. “Dammit, you’re a pain.”

“My man has a girl!”

“I’m not ‘ _your man_ ’, and I do not ‘ _have a girl_ ’.” Shikamaru had to laugh. “Christ, you’re unbearable.”

“You’ve gone soft.”

“I haven’t.”

“You’re right, you’ve _always_  been soft.”

He blushed, hoping that the scarf hid his cheeks enough to avoid the mockery.

“So,” Chōji grinned, staring at him eagerly, “is she hot? I bet she’s hot.”

“Chōji—”

“You should take her for dinner, Shikamaru. That’s _far_  better than a drink.”

“Chōji, I’d really rather—”

“I’m sorry, man,” he interrupted once again, guiltily lowering his gaze to Shikamaru’s shoes. “I’m just excited for you.”

He knew his friend only meant well, and Shikamaru had to smile, nudging him with his elbow to stop his sulking. “Don’t be, just chill out.”

“What’s her name?”

“Chōji…”

“What? That’s an innocent question!”

It was so very innocent, and yet if he answered he was opened up to a world of ridicule, shame and self doubt. Not from Chōji, he knew that, but he couldn’t afford to allow his friend to let slip to anyone what was happening, could he? Temari would kill him.

But it was okay—he could lie. He lied _a lot_  about menial things like this. Like Chōji had unfortunately brought to his attention, he was incredibly good at toying with people to make them feel better, and if his friend felt better knowing the apparent name of the girl he was seeing then fine. That could be done.

“Tamara.”

Chōji burst out laughing, hands covering his face and back slowly easing down the wall with each quaking motion of his torso. “Oh, come on. No. Don’t.”

Shikamaru frowned, blowing smoke almost into the hysterical man’s face. “What?”

“Seriously?” his friend wheezed. “That’s your therapist’s name.”

“No, it’s not,” uncomfortably chuckled Shikamaru. “That’s _Temari_.”

His eyes widened and eyebrows raised. “Right, that’s the worst lie you’ve _ever_  told. I’m not falling for that.”

“For what?”

“The fake name. Just admit you’re going out with Temara.”

“ _Temari_.”

“Stop it and admit it.” Chōji started to wheeze with laughter, amazed. “You’re going out with your therapist? Man, you told me you couldn’t.”

Guilty, Shikamaru dropped the butt of his cigarette and stamped on his, rubbing his eyes. “I know, man. And I still can’t. Please don’t mention it.”

“But—”

“Chōji. You’re probably the only person other than us who’s gonna be allowed to know about this, and she’ll kill me if you tell anyone.”

“Of course I won’t,” he replied, straightening himself up and smiling at his friend. “You’ve got my word. Always.”

“Thank you. I’m grateful.” He was _so_  damn grateful, and he felt so damn stupid.

“One more question though.”

“ _What_ , Chōji?”

“Did you con her into it?”

Shikamaru groaned, eyes rolling. “You’re such a pain.”

* * *

 

“And then he just went all cheeky and told me to call him and walked out.”

Gaara sat, speechless and expressionless, staring into his sister’s distressed face, trying to take in the overwhelming explanation he’d been given. “So he tricked you? Played you?”

“Better than a game of fucking chess, Gaara.”

He nodded, calmly and slowly—too slowly for Temari to know whether or not he had reached his limit with her tales. The pair sat in his bedroom, Gaara swivelling slightly on his desk chair and the eldest sibling sat cross legged, head-to-toe in pyjamas, and cupping her hands together in front of her mouth.

“Before you tell me I’m strong and that I can call him up now and tell him no, I can’t.”

“You can,” he sighed, “and you ought to.”

“But I’m not going to,” argued Temari, blushing as she began to bite her lower lip. “I will continue to help him—that time will remain unchanged.”

“It won’t. You said so yourself.”

Temari frowned at her brother. “And where has all your positivity gone from the other night?”

“I’m sorry, Tem. I guess I just don’t want my sister to get into trouble.”

“We’re not kids, Gaara,” she reasoned. “And nobody will have to find out. Just us. He probably won’t tell anyone, and you _obviously_  won’t. You’re the only one that know but the two of us, _please_. You’re the _cool_  brother, after all.”

Gaara smiled, clearly pleased with himself. “I _am_  the cool brother.”

“Actually,” a voice sounded from the landing, “I object to that.” Kankuro peered through the door and pushed it open. “He is _definitely not_  to cool brother. I’d take that title any day.” He smirked. “Evening.”

With a smile, Temari shook her head. “Evening, asshole. _You’re_  definitely not.”

“But Gaara keeps plants and colour codes his grocery lists.”

“I also keep plants, and I don’t know about you, but I think that’s pretty cool,” Temari joked, earning a thankful smile from the redhead.

Gaara nodded, staring at his brother. “She thinks I’m cool.”

“Cooler than Kankuro at the very least.”

Kankuro scoffed, leaning on the threshold. “Gaara, you’re the dullest person I know.”

The youngest brother turned his desk chair away from Kankuro, expressionless. “We hate you.”

Immediately, the brunette’s face fell and he realised the extent to which he’d offended him. “I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry,” he said, soft and sweet. “Your friend with the psycho trenchcoat is _way_  more boring.”

“You’re digging a hole, brother. I suggest you stop.”

Temari felt her smile widen at the youngest’s cheekier tone.

“Well, _brother_ , spin that dumb chair around and look at me and I will.”

Slowly, Gaara did as he was told, with squinting eyes and pursed lips.

Kankuro smirked. “I love you, buddy.”

Reluctantly he was met by, “You, too.”

“So,” asked the middle child, throwing himself down next to Temari on the bed, “is it gossip time?”

“No!” answered Temari, a little too quickly. “I mean, why would it be? I just came in cause, um…”

“Because I wanted her educated opinion on this witness we’ve been asked to consider.”

She whipped her attention to Gaara and smiled thankfully, nodding along with the lie. “He wanted my opinion on whether he was in a fit state to give testimony. Mentally, I mean.”

As if he understood, Kankuro nodded. Meanwhile the other two took pride in knowing that, for once, they were way ahead of him. “Okay,” he continued. “So how did you start talking about being the cool brother and not telling anyone something?”

“Oh just about some guy,” Temari replied, not entirely lying. “I just mentioned it in passing—I’m going out tomorrow night and wanted him to wait up in case I needed him.”

“But why couldn’t he tell anyone?”

She paused, blushing. “Um…” Her eyes drifted to Gaara, but the lack of clear emotion in his eyes told her that, this time, she was on her own. She had to save her skin the only way she knew how—make him uncomfortable. “Basically, I met him on Tuesday at the cafe and he’s a bit weird,” she lied, “and I don’t even know if I like him much, but I’m a young, attractive woman and I deserve to have a shag if I—”

“Okay, okay! Of course!” Kankuro hopped to his feet and waved for her to stop. “You are and you do, but you’re my sister and I just don’t want to hear it.”

“Gaara doesn’t care. Hence I tell him.”

Gaara shrugged. “I’m happy to listen. But I wouldn’t say I ‘don’t care’. You’re my sister, also.”

Temari sent him a cheeky smile. “Can we just all agree that we are going to leave Temari alone to have her excursion with some guy tomorrow, and just have some fun?”

The men nodded, then finally Kankuro rose to his feet and, begrudgingly, walked out

“Thank you!” she exclaimed making sure he could hear her. “Love you!”

“Love you, too, sis!”

She almost felt excited now that she’d straight up lied to keep their taboo meeting secret—it made it all the more fun—but she suddenly realised that, while she’d received the text Shikamaru had sent asking if she was okay for coffee tomorrow, she’d never replied.

Still, when she whipped her phone from the pocket of her trousers, Gaara was looking at her in a way that hardly made her feel good. His eyes were sad, and his lips pursed as though he was holding back out of sadness and pity, as well as the goodness of his heart.

“What’s wrong?” she sighed when she finally heard Kankuro clattering pots and pans downstairs.

“Are you actually going to sleep with him?” The young man blushed, turning away to face his desk. His fingertips traced the leaves of the cute little succulent that sat in the corner. “Only, it isn’t exactly…”

Temari felt her excitement fade. “I know. It would be really really wrong.”

“I want you to be happy, Tem. I really do,” urged Gaara, “but I wonder if this will actually make you happy.”

“I know.” She did _know_  what he meant. “But, Gaara, it’s torture. He makes me feel weak!”

“I wouldn’t say that’s good, is it?”

“You don’t have to tell me!” Temari found herself laughing. “Gaara, you know I’ve never felt… _much_  for anyone in a romantic way. Yes, I’ve had boyfriends, but…”

He nodded, sad. “But you’ve not really been in love.”

“No, I haven’t. And I’m _definitely_  not saying I’m in love with him—I barely know him, but—”

“Remember I was in therapy for years,” he interjected. “I’m perfectly aware how connected someone becomes to their therapist. I’m sure you do know him.”

“I know his mentality, sort of. I want to know _him_.” She fell back on the bed, rubbing her eyes. “I want to know if he’s always like that.”

“Like what?”

“An asshole.”

She heard Gaara chuckling. “You only say that because he tricked you into going out. Which I think you should.”

Temari jolted upright again. “You think?”

“I do.”

“It’s not wrong?”

“Of course it is,” he smiled at her, arms crossed, “but I think you guys need to try it out. Test it, and you’ll soon see if it’s worthwhile. You’re a smart woman—you can handle him.”

_I’m not as smart as him, though._

Nervously, and shaking immensely, Temari reached for her phone once again and read over the text that had been sent hours earlier.

_**‘I don’t drink alcohol much. Tomorrow night at the all-nighter? If you can’t make it, fine’** _

It was a place she knew. She'd be fine.

She took a deep breath before her fingers danced across the screen.

**_‘See you there @ 8’_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays to all!!


	15. The All-Night Café

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Temari waits at the coffee shop patiently, only for the evening to ensue not entirely as planned.

Her watch said eight-thirty, and Temari had already been waiting for him for an hour. She got here early, under the assumption that he, too, would be nervous to see her and arrive early, but now she was regretting it, debating whether to grab a second coffee, whip out her hip-flask, or just to go home. Yes, she’d arranged the time, but if he couldn’t do it, he should have told her. That didn’t seem unreasonable to her at all—hell, it _wasn’t_ —and she was beginning to feel the back of her throat grow lumpy.

Had he actually forgotten her?

Temari heaved herself up and headed over to the service till with her reusable mug, leaning across the counter and forcing a smile at the young man behind the till, who looked tired and miserable. “Can I have the same again, please?” she asked, eyes barely able to avoid the upset look in his eyes. When he nodded, and held out his hand for the money, she put it on the desk quickly, sighing. “Keep the change. For yourself, I mean.”

With a slight smile, the teenager nodded and busied himself in making her coffee, and Temari found herself feeling a way she hadn’t in ages—alone. Something about this cozy room, with only a few businessmen with laptops occupying the tables, all wearing headphones, was making her feel isolated from the rest of the world. Or maybe she was being melodramatic; maybe she was just disappointed.

Out of nowhere the bell clanged at the front of the shop, and Shikamaru burst in through the door, windswept hair down and messy as though it was blowing a gale outside. When Temari nervously raised her hand with a subtle smile, she couldn’t help but roll her eyes at his attire. He wore the same coat from the other night, undone; his usual black hoodie, jeans, boots, and—of course—the floral shirt. She could see him visibly huff upon seeing her, and her self-esteem didn’t exactly sky rocket at the noise.

But neither did his. He _knew_  what he looked like, after all.

Here she was, at least looking a little presentable in a mini denim skirt and sweatshirt, and he was in his work clothes. _He’s barely tried, has he?_  she thought. When he was within a few metres she raised her eyebrows. “Since when are florists open until eight on a Saturday?”

He sighed, slipping off his coat, eyes closed as though he was too embarrassed to look at her. “Florists _do not_  open past eight. However, _I do_  have the capacity to sleep for four hours after finishing work, in my clothes, and wake up five minutes after I’m meant to be meeting someone.”

Temari nodded, biting her lip. “Right.”

“I’m sorry that I made you wait,” he added.

The server handed her the mug she’d given him to fill, and, upon her saying thank you, Shikamaru rummaged in his pockets. “Hey, man. Can I get um…” He stared at the board behind the teen and sighed, finally giving up upon seeing the prices. “Just a tap water, please.”

“Shikamaru,” interjected Temari, tapping his arm and grabbing her purse. “I can get you a more intense coffee if you need one.”

“I just had a long-ass nap.”

“Still.” She turned to the server and gave him her biggest and best false grin. “Excuse me, please ignore him and get him an—”

“Temari, no.”

“What coffee?”

“Stop.”

“Isn’t this meant to be a date? Let me buy you a damn drink, asshole.”

He froze, and she blushed massively. He stared at her, forcing back a smile before turning to the young man and ordering. As she rummaged through her purse for two pounds, she remembered working here when she was getting her degree. Even if only for a couple of months, she remembered the night shifts—the ones that started around now—so vividly it almost stunned her. She could remember the types of people who’d come in the most: the weirdos who’d crawl in at 5am, all the students like her and the dozens of cab-drivers. It was always the same. Someone was tired or upset, and they’d lethargically drag themselves to the counter and pull the same false smile she’d given the server tonight.

“I used to work here,” she blurted out, expectantly looking at Shikamaru. “When I was, like, twenty.”

Clearly as unsure how to continue that as she was, he nodded. “How old are you again?”

She frowned. “Did I ever tell you?”

The question was answered by a half-hearted shrug. “Forgotten, if you have. Twenty-five?”

“Twenty-six. Close.” She stepped backwards towards her table, cup in hand, eyebrows raised.

“You’re not going to wait for me?” he asked.

“I’ve waited for you for an hour,” she responded, “so I’m done, buddy.”

His grin doubled in size, and he threw his coat in the direction of her table, landing it just about opposite her in the booth. As he’d expected, her eyes rolled, and he felt them on him when he turned to thank the server. “I know I look a state, but you don’t have to stare.”

“I’m _not staring_!”

Shikamaru’s eyebrows raised. “Okay, chill.” He stepped over, spilling a little hot coffee on his hand as he placed down his cup opposite hers. She watched him wince for a second, but he simply wiped it on his trousers and sighed. “Sorry again that I was late.”

“Are you okay?”

“Want the usual sarcastic response, or a proper one?”

Temari smiled, really and truthfully this time. “Proper one, please.”

“Then yeah. I’m okay. Just on edge is all.” He sat back, hands behind his head and began to start putting up his hair. “I haven’t been on a date in…”

“Me neither don’t worry. Months and months.”

“Well, to be honest,” he started, biting his lip as he wrestled with his hair-tie. “I’ve not been on one which I haven’t been forced on.”

“This time _I’m_  the forced one,” she joked, sipping on her drink. “I don’t know, Shikamaru. Tell me about your hobbies?”

“Hobbies?” He raised his eyebrows. “What like?”

Temari shook her head. “You know what hobbies are, don’t do that.”

He finally finished with his hair and dropped his elbows onto the table. “God, what a drag.”

“So, what? You want to sit in silence?”

“No, no,” he chuckled. “Just…give me a minute. You start.”

“Okay,” agreed the blonde. “I read a lot, and I used to play the piano when I was little. I haven’t played in years but I loved to.”

Shikamaru nodded, thoughtfully. “It’s weird you telling me things without me having to play chess first.”

“I thought you liked playing.”

“I do, it’s just different, you know,” he insisted. “I guess that’s a hobby, isn’t it.”

She nodded, somewhat patronisingly.

“I can’t draw. I can’t dance— _won’t ever_ dance.”

Temari found herself giggling into her coffee.

“I can play the bass guitar. I taught myself, back when I was like sixteen and found my dad’s old bass, after, you know…Asuma died.” As he lowered, his eyes to stare into his cup, she noticed how he started to smile though he looked forlorn. “In that time I didn’t want to do _anything_ , that’s what kept me going.”

It took all Temari had to stop herself from leaning forward and delving deeper into that connection. In her head all these little threads were forming, all leading back to this man who’d so clearly been such a huge part of Shikamaru’s teenage year, and her desperation to ask him more about him almost overwhelmed her. But she knew better.

She could see the look in his eyes that told her that this wasn’t the time or place. He’d asked to spend time with her in a different way; a way where they were the same. Just two young people with two separate lives and minds—minds that didn’t need to be explored or understood. Temari had never had her time to be a stupid teenager, or even a stupid adult, and here she was now. She wondered if that, too, was what was lacing his mind right now alongside his sad memories, and if it was what he wanted. Maybe he did just want to be stupid, too. Maybe they were the same at heart. After all, Temari was a little lost in her own head, too, and she wanted nothing more than to be at peace with herself.

And here, somehow, she did.

“I bet you’re shit,” she joked, finally.  
Thankfully, he grinned. “Yeah, I am. I suck.”

“I’m joking.”

“ _I’m not_.” He raised his head and rubbed his eyes. “My dad says I’m good, but he’s really not good. Plus, I just play mindlessly.”

“I’d like to hear you play.”

“You wouldn’t, Tem,” he laughed. “But okay. Eventually.”

 _Eventually_ , she pondered,  _as if we have all the time in the world._

* * *

 

He couldn’t help but stare at her. Three coffees later on his part, and a whole lot of talking shit later, she’d finally got to the point where he’d watched her pouring a little something from a hip-flask into her drink for the second time, and offering him the same. He laughed it off, shaking his head as it rested on his hands. “No more after that.”

“Okay, Mr Boring.”

Shikamaru raised his eyebrows. “One drop of spirit and your ten-times sassier, eh?”

“Shut up!” she whined, stuffing it back in her bag. “I won’t have any more, but why not just have a little bit?”

“I told you already,” he repeated, “I don’t really do alcohol.”

“Something else to do with being a shit teenager?”

He shot a finger gun at her, scratching his neck with the other hand. “Bingo.”

“So,” began Temari, smiling, “you’ve told me all about your job, and I’ve told you all about my brothers and my Dad.”

“And the way he basically gave you guys no freedom as kids and just never made you feel special.”

“Exactly that.”

A smirk growing on his face, Shikamaru reached across the table and stirred her drink for her. “I fucking knew you’d have daddy issues.”

“Say that again, Shikamaru, and I will deck you.”

He didn’t doubt her for a second, dropping the spoon and sitting back.

“As I was saying,” she giggled, eyes narrow, “it’s about time I asked you about why the hell you thought it was okay to trick me yesterday.”

“That’s a good question,” he mused, staring straight into her captivating teal orbs. It was undoubtedly a question he’d been expecting, but that didn’t mean he had an answer prepared. “I’m aware I must’ve seemed like a right ass—”

“Correct.”

Shikamaru raised his eyebrows. “ _But_ , I didn’t even think about it. I didn’t want to upset you or anything, and given that you aren’t sobbing I guess I haven’t or at least you’ve forgiven me. I just couldn’t really stop myself from asking you in the first place, and when you came back in the room I just knew I had to see how this played out.”

“And has it played out well?” asked Temari, her fingertips twiddling a strand of hair around her fingers. “In your book?”

“Would you be smiling without the liquor?”

Temari frowned slightly, and laughed. “Well, yes. I’m having a nice time!”

“Then yes, it has,” he chuckled. “Despite Chōji making me feel a bit shit about it last night.”

“Excuse me?” she spat, sitting upright and shaking her head, a very unhumorous smile on her lips. “You told Chōji?”

He blushed, looking down and putting his hands behind his head. “Shit.”

“We can’t  _tell people_ , Shikamaru. It’s bad enough as it is, just coming here together.”

“Alright, alright,” he winced. “I’m sorry, okay? Just lay off me.”

She let out a huge sigh and took a large sip of her drink, muttering to herself, “Well, I guess now I don’t feel as guilty for telling Gaara.”

“Your brother?” Now was Shikamaru’s turn to be bitter. “You can tell him and I can’t tell Chōj.”

Her scoff didn’t help her cause. “He’s my brother, Shikamaru!”

“And Chōji is _mine_!” He blushed, staring down into his coffee. “I’m sorry. It is different,” he added.

Begrudgingly, Temari smiled at him. “I know, I’m sorry, too.” She reached across the table and put her hand on his, prying it from behind his head. “A long as he doesn’t tell anyone, we’re good.”

“He won’t.” He sighed and withdrew his hand, placing it on the table with hers. “But since I spoke to him, I’ve been wondering why you didn’t just tell me to fuck off yesterday.”

“You didn’t really give me a choice, Shikamaru.”

“ _No_. You could’ve texted me or called me and said no.”

“I couldn’t,” she blushed.

He didn’t pry further, unsure he wanted to hear what she might say. Instead, he let out the first thing that came to mind, automatically filling up with blushing embarrassment himself. “You’re beautiful, you know?”

Temari smiled; a very kind and thoughtful smile. “Thank you.”

“Which is troublesome,” he added, before he felt his face grow too red, “because beautiful women freak me out.”

“What?”

He chuckled at the angry look in her eyes. “My dad always told me that my mum was the most beautiful and most terrifying woman that he’d ever met.”

“Why does that make you scared?”

“We aren’t supposed to be interviewing me. I feel like you’re interviewing me.”

Her eyebrows raised. “Habit,” she shrugged.

“You’re terrifying, too, you know? Truly terrifying.” Shikamaru’s voice was so measured, and she couldn’t help he spoke as though he thought she wasn’t listening.

And maybe she wasn’t, not truly, or just couldn’t quite tune in to what he meant.

* * *

 

“Do you want me to walk you home?” he asked as he watched her cocoon herself in her scarf and slip on her gloves. He slipped on his coat and a cigarette between his lips as he stepped out the door, and turned, waiting for her reply.

He was met with a very distressed look. “Are you joking?” she laughed out. “If it turned out Kankuro waited up and saw you out of the window that wouldn’t go brilliantly, would it?”

At the mere mention of her brother’s name, Shikamaru raised his hands in defeat and began to walk, lighting the cigarette between his lips as he waited for her to follow his step. “I’ll walk you to the pub then. You don’t live far from there, do you?”

She shook her head in agreement. “I can take care of myself, Nara.”

“I know,” he chuckled, taking a drag and passing the smoke to her. “I’m protecting someone from a kick in the groin if they were to approach you. I think they’d much rather the argument and mild punch I’d give them.”

Temari took the cigarette and placed it on her lips. “Are you saying you’d stand up for me?”

“It’d be troublesome, sure, but…” Shikamaru shoved his hands into his pockets and stood still, waiting for her to finish her drag. “After all you’ve done for me it would be only right.”

He outstretched his hand, but instead of the expected contact of a cigarette with his fingers he found himself engulfed in her arms, tightly. “L-Look, love,” he stuttered out, his arms stiffly at his sides and confused, “you have two brothers, at least one of which is far less weedy than me, and would defend you in a heartbeat.”

“Yeah, but you don’t have to. And you don’t think you need to.”

“I d—”

“I know so because you’d avoid it all costs.” Temari pulled back slightly, looking into his eyes from mere centimetres away. Her breath tickled his neck, and his made the hair around her forehead flutter gently. “I fight would be _way_  too much of a drag.”

Shikamaru’s lips curved into a smirk, and his long arms finally embraced her, feeling her hairs tickle in the crook of his neck. He almost wished he hadn’t and that they’d remained in that blissful stare, and he could look in that cheeky glint in her eyes forever.

Temari, clearly having the same thoughts as his hands sat on the small of her back, shivered slightly and pulled back, just enough to look into his dark orbs again. Her fingertips toyed with the escaped hair from his ponytail, and her eyes fluttered shut. She could feel his breath again, getting warmer and warmer as she leaned closer, and then all of a sudden there was the slightest touch of warm skin on her lips.

Suddenly, faster than even she would’ve liked, she pulled back, blurting out, “I think you need to find a new therapist.”

Her eyes flickered open to see the gorgeous young man who she’d undeniably just turned upside down in a split second. “What?”

His dark eyes were narrow, sad, but he hadn’t let go of her just yet. She couldn’t quite pin why, but the desperation of his eyes and the gentle hold of his hands on her waist made her almost breathless.

“Don’t make me say it again,” she begged.

“Okay then.” Shikamaru gulped, finally loosening his grip on her, stepping back. “ _Why_?”

“You bloody know why,” she answered, pained and choking through her words. “Because _this_  isn’t right. We can’t be like this and then…I-I can’t just forget about it when you come in for sessions.”

Shikamaru’s mouth fell open, and his hands found hers in the darkness between them, both clammy and confused. “But I—”

“I care too much about you, Shikamaru, for you to not get better.”

He let go of her hands before she was ready, turning away and reaching into his pockets when he saw the squished remains of their shared cigarette on the floor. “I’m booked in for Tuesday at four.”

“Then cancel it.”

Somehow, she heard a chuckle float from him. “As if. I need _your help_ , Tem. _You actually make me feel okay._ ”

“Shikamaru, we can’t—”

“Then we won’t. I’ll go home and forget we ever came out; forget we ever stood here, or that we ever did…that.” He turned, cigarette poking out the corner of his mouth, and eyes glistening with something she hoped weren’t tears. “I’ll forget how beautiful you are, and you will forget about me, too.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“You tell me what to do constantly,” he shrugged. “I want no other therapist than you, and I’ll do what I have to in order to keep you.”

Temari could feel the burning in her throat as she tried to speak, unsure of every syllable that almost let itself be voiced. The one thing she knew other than how bad this was, was that she was flattered, and that she didn’t have it in her to tell him to leave. “I’ll see you Tuesday, then.”

Suddenly she wanted him to walk her home. The length of one small street closer to her house was too soon for him to walk away.

“Tuesday,” he agreed, starting to walk away from her. “And forget the chess board. I don’t need it anymore.”

And so the fun must have escaped, she thought as she watched his lean frame fade into the dark ahead, leaving behind only the grey and the gloom. But he was right that they didn’t need the board anymore; it was nothing compared to the game between them.


	16. Forgetful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While at the Akimichi household for dinner, Shikamaru has to force himself through the heckling, reminiscing, and annoyance of his friends despite how he's really feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't worry. ShikaIno hints are bollocks and are, as if quite clear, of the past.

“Can you please turn that down, Chōji? It’s giving me a headache and I’m trying to talk to you.”

“Ino, it’s only giving you a headache _because_  you’re trying to talk _over it_.”

Shikamaru looked on from the windowsill of his best friend’s bedroom as he and the girl bickered, while they waited for the call that their families’ joint Sunday lunch was ready. He was pretty sure Ino had _started_  by talking about the guy that had taken her for dinner last night, but he had quickly tuned out of that boring story and turned his attention to the serene clouds that floated by—every now and then checking Chōji hadn’t been strangled by the blonde. And, although at times he’d focussed on snip-its of their majorly one-sided conversation, he couldn’t pay proper attention. His mind was still racing from his own Saturday night, and each time it sprung to mind his lips would tingle, anticipating what had never quite come.

He’d told her he’d forget about it. How in hell was he going to do that? How awful it was going to be having to face her on Tuesday. Something inside him wondered what she’d have done if he’d agreed to stop letting her treat him; if maybe she would have kissed him properly, and whether that would’ve even been right. But, in the end, it didn’t matter—that wasn’t what happened, and this miserable converse was his true state.

God, how he envied the clouds…

“What about you guys?” Ino finally asked, her cheerful voice bouncing around the room. “Chōji, have you met anyone recently?”

“Nah, nothing in months for me,” he replied, barely listening, “but Shikamaru went out last night.”

Suddenly he couldn’t help but join the conversation as his head shot round, glaring at the back of Chōji’s neck.

Sheepishly, the brunette looked over to his friend. “Man, I forgot to ask you how it went!”

“Don’t, Chōji,” he warned.

“What?”

“I said not to—”

“Shikamaru, really?” Ino interjected, sitting up in her spot on Chōji’s bed. “ _You_  actually went on a date?”

He shrugged, eyebrows raised. “Yeah, so?”

“What do you mean _so_? You never go out with _anyone_ ,” she giggled, catching his eye much to his despair. “Who with? Do I know her?”

Shikamaru rolled his eyes. “What is it with the pair of you and your need to interfere with my life?”

Chōji smiled, apologetically, “We only care about you, Shikamaru.”

“Does Chōji know who she is?” Ino pushed, smirking as she leant towards Chōji and playfully kicking him. “Oi, did he tell you who she is?”

The chubbier young man laughed as he turned away and continued playing his game. Unlike his best friend, Chōji  struggled fabricating things even the slightest bit, so he simply shook his head and said, “He just said she was blonde. That’s about it.”

Confused, Ino turned to Shikamaru with slightly angry, pink cheeks. “I didn’t take you as the type who’d go for blondes. Actually, you specifically told me you were ‘more of a brunette guy’, remember?”

Shikamaru shrugged, turning his attention back to the clouds. He didn’t care as to why she’d even remembered that white lie he’d told her years before.

“Did your date suck as much as mine?” she asked, trying to keep his attention.

 _Oh, it sucked. Probably_ more _than yours, Ino._

“Uh-huh.”

Chōji spun around. “No way! But I thought you guys would—”

“Aha! He does know—I knew it!” Ino shuffled to the edge of the bed and shook her head. “Is today ‘don’t-tell-Ino’ day or something? We’re meant to be a team, guys!”

“ _How_  exactly are we a team?” asked Shikamaru dubiously.

“We’ve known each other forever!”

“And you’ve known your friend Sakura and that dumb blonde guy forever, too,” he argued. “Does that mean that _you guys_  are a team, as well?”

“No…It’s different, Shika. We _worked_  together.”

“Don’t call me that, Ino.” He balled a fist, sighing with exasperation. “Besides, Chōji only worked at the flower shop for like a week and a half.”

“But _we’ve_  worked there for years.”

“For God’s sake.” Shikmaru finally looked at her bright blue eyes and groaned. “Listen: he doesn’t know, okay? And neither will you. It doesn’t matter anyway—not going to see her again.”

Chōji suddenly looked very upset, pausing his game. “But you guys seemed to—”

“You don’t have to say it, Chōji,” he interrupted, forcing a smile. “I know, man.”

A shout came from down the stairs and everyone’s attention turned to deciphering the mumbles of what sounded like Chōji’s mother. He hauled himself to his feet, unwillingly, and walked towards the door, sighing.

“I’ll be back in a sec, guys. Shout me if you need me.”

The pair nodded, relaxing once more as they heard his footsteps on the stairs. For a moment there was a blissful silence, and Shikamaru was glad for it. He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to go back in time and never ask Temari out, or turn up on time, or look like he cared in the way he _actually_  did. But most of all, given the impossibility of all of that, he wanted to go home.

Out of the welcomed silence, Ino’s voice emerged once more. “Your new therapist; from the way you are at work, I thought he was helping, but they don’t seem to be doing much for you now.”

Shikamaru frowned. “She is helping.”

“ _She_?”

He raised his eyebrows. A huge sigh came from him as his eyes averted back to the skies, following cloud after cloud from one side to the other. “Yeah, _she_. And she’s the most helpful one so far. Seems to be actually getting through to something, maybe—I can’t really tell. Just don’t worry about me.”

There was a long pause, and he heard her shuffle uncomfortably behind him.

“You think I don’t care, don’t you?” Ino cleared her throat, waiting for an answer but receiving silence. “You don’t. You think I don’t talk to you about how you feel because I don’t care, but that’s not true. I care a lot. I just don’t know what to say that you’ll actually listen to.”

“I know, Ino,” he sighed, still staring out the window, “I know you do.”

She joined him in staring out at the clouds. The sky was darkening slowly. “Do you remember prom and when we looked at the night sky?”

“I remember you forcing me to go with you.”

“I just wanted you to have a date!”

“I didn’t want to _go_  in the first place.”

“Oh, yeah—you were moping about our teacher, weren’t you?” she almost asked herself. “I knew you weren’t okay back then; when we all went up the hill in the dark after prom was over and Chōji had bought that huge bag of Chinese food and we were just going to sit there and laugh and drink.”

He nodded. “I drank _a lot_  that night.”

“You did, indeed,” she laughed, blushing. “You even kissed me.”

He turned around frowning. “Fuck off— _you_  definitely kissed _me_.”

“No, Shikamaru. I remember you lying down on the grass with a prawn cracker poking out the side of your mouth shouting, ‘Ino, get on over here and look at the stars with me.’ Don’t you remember?”

“That was Chōji.”

She scrunched up her features. “Was it?”

“Yeah, that was _definitely_  Chōji.”

“Then why do I remember you holding me on the floor, rambling about stars?”

“Because _you_  dragged me over to him and started fucking cuddling me on the floor,” chuckled Shikamaru. “So naturally I started drinking more.”

There was some more heavy, padded footsteps before suddenly another voice joined the conversation. “ _And_  he was seriously upset, and he was asking if we thought Mr Sarutobi was up there, remember?” Chōji interjected, poking his head around the door.

Shikamaru’s head dropped, eyes set on his hands.

“God, yeah!” Ino almost laughed, but stopped herself when she saw her friend’s sad expression. “I haven’t thought about that in years.”

“Me neither,” Chōji agreed.

The last of the trio simply hummed.

“Hadn’t someone just dumped Chōji?” Ino giggled, trying to change the subject.

He nodded. “That girl who suddenly moved out of town as soon as exams finished.”

“She was such a drag, man,” added Shikamaru. “Never left you alone. Until she like, you know, _properly_  left you alone.”

“ _Thanks_ , man.”

“Hey,  _I’m_  the one who hasn’t had a girlfriend since we were like nine.”

Chōji grinned like a little boy. “And that was _Ino_.”

“Shut up,” she blushed. “He’s right though, Chōji. I always thought it’d be the other way round.”

Shikamaru shook his head. “I’m too dull and skinny. Girls like how, um…” He blinked to focus himself, aware of how conscious his friend was. “How cuddly he is. I’m just bones.”

“Then you need to eat more.”

“Ino, you know that’s not why,” the smiling, shorter man warned. “You know better than anyone that Shikamaru just turns everyone down.”

Her face started to redden. “Akimichi, I’m gonna punch you.”

He raised his hands defensively. “He kissed you once after prom and you never forgot about it.”

“I _definitely_  didn’t kiss her,” insisted Shikamaru.

They both laughed at him.

Chōji smiled, patient and kind as always. “Shikamaru you were black out drunk by that point.”

“You used to be that drunk a lot, and way before either of us were,” Ino added sadly. “Remember your eighteenth birthday?”

“No.”

“Point made, then.”

He actually began to laugh a bit, despite the sorry looks on his friends faces. “Well, if I did kiss you, Ino, I definitely didn’t want to.”

“ _Wow_ ,” she spat, “you don’t have to be such a jerk about it.”

“I’m not. I just don’t want you getting the wrong idea.”

_Though I get the feeling I’m years too late on that one._

Chōji sat himself down on his bed, patting a spot for Ino to sit beside him. “I thought you and Ino would end up together, you know? Way back when.”

“So did my dad,” groaned Ino. “He was _overjoyed_ when we went to prom together; so was Shikaku, actually .”

“To be honest, Ino,” sighed Shikamaru, “Dad was just happy that I went outside.”

“You _do remember_  kissing me, don’t you?”

“You _know_ I don’t, Ino.”

“Well, you must remember the dozens of times that I asked you places, and yet you never caught on!”

Shikamaru had to stop himself from hideously hurting her feelings with a laugh. “Ino, you’re the closest thing I have to a sister. We’ve known each other since we were born.”

“Exactly, and you expect me not to have fancied you at one point?”

“I’d have expect you to have grown out of it by now,” he spat.

Chōji winced, stepping towards the pair of them. He reached out and knocked Shikamaru and with his elbow, frowning at him. He mouthed a warning, and his friend groaned, letting his head fall back against the wall.

Not wanting another hit to him, Shikamaru smiled kindly at her. “What I’m trying to say is this: you’re basically my sister, it’s _weird_  to think we drunk-snogged once, and we _seriously need_  to start telling people who come into the shop and think we’re a couple that we’re related or something because it’s _such a pain_.”

Ino bit down on her lip and started to smile, shaking her head. “One, I haven’t fancied you like that in a good few years; and _two_ , you could’ve said that in literally one sentence.”

“You wouldn’t have listened if I didn’t get argumentative,” he chuckled back, shrugging. 

Chōji elbowed him again, this time with a chuckle, and threw his arm over Ino’s shoulders. “Ignore him. He’s just miserable because some girl messed him up last night.”

“Not really, Chōji. It was my own—”

“So yeah, this girl…she pretty?”

Shikamaru raised his eyebrows at Ino, unsurprised. “I’d really rather not tell you.”

“So yes.”

He chuckled. “She’s harsh, but she’s kind and she sort of understands my mind.”

“ _You_  don’t even understand your mind.”

“Hence why it’s so sad that it didn’t go well last night,” interjected Chōji. “Forget her though, he’s right, Ino. Fancy someone who deserves for you to fancy them, someone who’s not just…there.”

“That worked for the lazy loner over here.”

“Do as I say, not as I do,” he chuckled.

“Ino, come here! I’ve got a customer on the line who says they’ve ordered for tomorrow and wants you!” her mother called from downstairs, and with such haste she almost forgot to punch Shikamaru in the gut playfully before she left, Ino sprung to her feet and sped out.

He knew he’d probably been harsh on her for a childish crush she probably no longer had, but he couldn’t pretend it was fine now that he’d felt something for someone that made his heart feel fuller when she smiled. It was something he just needed to know was settled and gone; maybe not for Temari anymore, but just to put his mind at ease.

Had she done the same as him, he wondered, or had she gone straight home and ranted to her brother about what had happened. Maybe it would’ve been easier for him, he’d have been less downtrodden, if he’d have talked about it with someone last night. Thinking on it, he couldn’t give a valid reason why he hadn’t rung Chōji or gone to his little flat near the pub he was half way moving into.

Temari was right: he kept too much to himself, and he didn’t ask for or do what he needed. Looking at Chōji now, out of the corner of his eye with his polite, friendly smile forming as he grew closer, he felt stupid. As if this guy would’ve done anything other than give him a hug and try to pick him up. Even if he failed, at least Shikamaru would have _someone_ who understood everything.

“I genuinely thought you’d met your one,” said Chōji wistfully, flopping against the wall next to him and pulling Shikamaru’s attention back into the room. “Given that this has literally never happened.”

“It’s for the best, man. Besides, my dad used to tell me to never let myself fall for a woman because they’re a nightmare, and _Christ_  is he right,” grumbled Shikamaru, his eyes fluttering shut. “Not that I’ve fallen for her, but one date was bad enough.”

“Just chill,” his friend insisted, patting his back, “it’ll work out if it’s meant to happen.”

Shikamaru simply shook his head and looked out of the window once more. “But it just won’t, will it? Nothing ever does.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to be honest, I was really worried to post this chapter because I know not much has progressed, but I wanted this to be Shikamaru's reality hitting him - things are normal and no different for anyone else, but despite the way he feels, he isn't actually alone :)
> 
> sorry if you found this boring - I'm expecting a lot of criticism - but there will be more important plot progression soon


	17. Tuesday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tuesday comes around, and nobody appears to be okay with it.

Nothing could quite compare to how Temari felt in this exact moment, nor could she relate any experience in her life to the underlying fear that had resonated since Saturday night; that ever-present pang of hurt that clung to her chest and send shivers down her spine.

Gaara, as expected, had been as helpful as he could be. When she got home, after the false smiles and tired eyes played well in front of Kankuro, she made a beeline for his room, and found him sat in bed, reading as he waited. There he had sat, looking at her with a gaze that was equal parts exhausted and excited, but it took only one proper look at her for his arms to open up. And, obviously, she ran to him.

All she’d done was explained. The evening had been pleasant, despite the fact that he was late, and very much despite the fact that he wasn’t willing to give her up as a therapist. She was not going to be any use to him anymore—she must’ve told Gaara that a hundred times over, but nothing seemed to make him speak. As always, her little brother sat and listened intently, holding her close until she eventually calmed down and fell asleep in his arms. When she’d woken up he was on the floor with a blanket and a pillow, his red hair spread messy, and she couldn’t help smiling. He was _definitely_  her _big_  brother at heart.

Both Sunday and Monday had been days of false smiles and hiding, reading every file but _his_  in an attempt to recollect her thoughts and not be useless, but every road felt like it lead back to him. Every phrase that fell from a patient’s mouth felt inferior, and, while on the Monday she had her first patient who was ready to stop coming to see her, she felt no fulfilment.

She thought knowing him had been making her happy, but now she felt almost nothing at all.

But that whole time had been leading up to this moment. For two days she’d been waiting to hear that door click, torturing herself by reading his file over today’s lunchtime, and trying her absolute best to keep up with everything people said to her. Without a doubt, though, she had never felt more on edge in her life, and she stared at the doorknob, just waiting for it to turn.

As the metal glinted as it moved, Temari wanted nothing more than to hide away behind her desk or disappear away, never to return. Instead she braced herself, took a deep breath, and desperately searched for a positive in the situation.

 _Three-fifty-four,_  she noted the time. _He’s early for once._

“Hi,” she mumbled, forcing a smile.

“Hi. Sorry.”

“Come sit down,” she instructed, adjusting her position on her chair. “Are you, um, doing alright today?”

All Shikamaru could do in response was nod, rubbing his neck nervously as he stepped closer. “Well, this is awkward.”

“It’s not!” she lied. “So have you had any problems since Friday?”

It was his turn to lie, shaking his head.

“Really? None?”

And again. “No.”

“How’re your family?”

Suddenly there was a smile on his face, and she could feel herself getting riled up; confused by it’s appearance. “You’ve got no idea how to talk to me now, have you?”

Temari gulped, her palms sweating. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“This is _horrible_ ,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “It feels like we’ve never even met before.”

“That’s what I was going for. _You_  were the one who said forget about everything, Shikamaru. I’m forgetting it.”

“I didn’t mean forget how to be a normal human being.” Shikamaru sighed, sitting back into the sofa and biting his lip as his eyes looked everywhere but at hers. “I meant go back to before what happened—I meant be yourself, Tem.”

“Temari,” she argued, correcting him. “And that’s difficult, given that I knew this would happen and yet you just _had_  to come back.”

“Tem—”

“And now I can’t help you.”

The spark that was fighting to stay alive in his eyes suddenly went out, and his arms folded across his chest, sloppy like a ragdoll. His gaze flew towards the window, and like a statue he was at once immovable.

Temari felt a lump in he throat. “Shall I grab the board?”

He didn’t move.

“Okay then, shall I just go fuck myself?”

She thought she saw that slight smile wriggle its way back onto his lips, but when she blinked it was gone. “Why don’t you just ask me about Asuma?” he mumbled. “You were on a fucking roll on Friday until I stopped you.”

“Your teacher?” She frowned. “Is there more for you to say about him? You already covered a lot of it then.”

He laughed, humourlessly. “Forget it then, jeez.” She could see his eyeballs flickering side to side, lulling closer to closing as he watched the clouds. “It’s as if you’ve forgotten your job.”

The recurring desire to punch him was crawling back to her, stronger than it ever had. “ _My job_ , Shikamaru is to help you understand yourself, and to make you feel better. And, to be _really_  honest with you, right now I have no idea how to do that whatsoever.”

“Brilliant.”

“Will you just _shut up_?” she shouted, burying her face in her palms.

Shikamaru could see just from the whiting of her knuckles out of the corner of his eyes how uncomfortable she was, and the sharpness of her voice wasn’t something he was used to. Why had he at any point thought that this was going to be different from this? Did any sane part of him really think that she wouldn’t be mad at him in some way, shape or form? Of course he didn’t, so why was he so surprised that she was upset, infuriated. She almost looked broken, and the same insane part of him that was so riddled with hopeful denial wanted nothing more than to mend her somehow.

But, then again, she was _Temari_ —from what she’d told him she was the strongest person she knew. Surely some stupid skinny asshole hadn’t shattered that person to a nervous wreck. She wasn’t like him; or, at the very least, he didn’t want to think that she felt at all like he did right now.

“Temari, I’m sorry, I—”

“I don’t want you to apologise to me. I don’t want you to even mention it.” Her eyes, bloodshot and angry stood in agreement, but Shikamaru couldn’t help thinking they didn’t give the whole picture.

He leant forward in his seat, hands locked together between his knees. His gaze turned solely on her, desperately trying not to waver and determined to not look away again. “I’m sorry I came back.”

“I just cannot believe I called you selfless, Shikamaru. You’ve come back here _purely_  for yourself, like you don’t realise how _genuinely hard_  this is for me to continue with!”

“We went on _one_  date…”

“Which was one too many, Shikamaru! I—” She stopped herself abruptly, lowering her voice to a whisper. “I almost fucking kissed you!”

He gulped, eyes falling to the floor.

“I’m sorry. Did you _actually want_  to talk about Asuma?”

“If you want me to. If it helps me get better then sure,” he mumbled, nodding.

“That’s so important to you, isn’t it? Getting better.” Her voice was almost bitter, but she masked it well with her soft smile. “That overrides everything.”

Shikamaru’s shoulders drooped. “I mean, obviously it’s important to me, but I wouldn’t say it ‘overrides everything’.”

“So, if you were to have the chance to do something that would make you genuinely happy but it would stop you getting better, you’d do it?”

He raised his head again, shaking his head with the most surprising smile yet. “I know _exactly_  what you’re saying. My IQ is through the roof remember.”

“I never said anything about—”

“But I know that’s you’re saying. I know what can make me better, and I will do it. When I’m better I can do the things I want to do…”

It was Temari’s turn to feel her stomach fill with guilt. Despite the anger that rushed through her body, and the insane temperature at which her blood was boiling, for reasons she couldn’t quite pin down, she suddenly felt herself go cold at the sight of his smile. Not calm—no she was definitely still infuriated with him—but genuinely chilled. So many times she had looked at him and seen nothing but his usual melancholic veil of false calm, having no idea what was really happening under than dark hair and what was really inside his heart. Never had she known exactly what he was going to say; she just wasn’t able to pin him down like that.

Until now, because, strangely, he could feel it herself. So many things at once, rushing around; always taking blame and never placing it for so many unforgotten mistakes and could-have been moments, trapped in a loop of hostility towards himself that made his fingers tap anxiously…she could see it all. And, despite all her instincts as a therapist, she couldn’t bear to watch anymore.

“Most of them, anyway,” he added finally, one corner of his mouth raising, as if to convince her he was okay, really.

It didn’t work.

“I’m sorry. I never should’ve agreed to go out with you.”

Shikamaru shook his head, a deep frown carved into his expression. “Stop it. You have nothing to apologise for.”

“But, I—”

“You’re only trying to help me,” he acknowledged. “It’s my fault that I’m back here, and it’s my fault that I’ve painted myself with an extra layer of pain every hour since Saturday, and I’ve kept adding to it; checking my phone, almost calling you, almost calling _here_  yesterday. I know its entirely my own fault, and yet I can’t shake it off.” He let out a huge sigh, squeezing his eyes shut as his head shook, trying to displace his thoughts. “I just can’t fix it.”

As she watched him haul himself to his feet, zipping up his hoodie blind, Temari felt her boots violently hit the ground and soon she, too, was on her feet, making a beeline for him. When she’s turned the corner of her desk, her hips swaying rapidly as she sped walked, she reached out to grab his arm, but his eyes flew open, and he stepped back, crossing them across his chest.

“Don’t.”

“Shikamaru—”

“Don’t, it’s fine,” he whispered, trying to stop himself listening to his own words. “I won’t come back.”

Temari was too frozen by far too many emotions to move a muscle, and so she watched hopelessly as the young man paced towards the door—faster than she’d ever seen him walk—lingering with his fingers on the door handle. She thought, _maybe_ , that he’d look up. Or maybe he’d turn and give her one final smile—one last hurrah.

Silently he nodded once, and twisted the knob, leaving as silently as he’d entered. It took seconds for Temari to collapse on the sofa he’d just been sat on, perturbed by the warmth of spot he’d just been in, and pull her phone from her pocket. Quickly, swallowing all of her emotions and whatever pride she had left, she dialled her most called number and listened to the beeps of it ringing, and ringing, and ringing…

“Gaara,” she said to the answerphone, not caring whether he listened now or in three hours, just desperate to speak to someone or something. “Please say you’re going to the pub quiz tonight with trenchcoat-guy. I really want to come—hell I’ll even pay for your drinks, just let me come. Please!” She was aware how painful her begging was, so after a long, deep breath, she uttered the real truth, “I just really need a bloody drink.”

Outside, at the bus stop in the pouring rain, a young man put his phone to his ear and uttered very similar words. “Chōji,” he sighed down the phone, “please tell me you can meet me tonight?”

“Man, I’ll be at work from six onwards, but Ino’s probably free if—”

“I’ll come. I need _you_ , man.” He did, and his friend’s vague company would be better than loneliness tonight. He couldn’t do it tonight.

* * *

 

Temari knew that every other Tuesday her youngest brother would come to the pub, drink with his friends, and play some quiz she’d never considered taking part in. What she didn’t know was that said brother was really, _really_  good at it. And, while that inevitably made her feel a bit stupid and a little more downtrodden given the day she’d already had, it definitely had it perks. Perks which consisted of _a lot_  of free drinks for winning each round.

The clock had barely struck ten and she was convinced at this point that she’d drunk a bucket’s worth of cocktails. Never had she considered herself a cocktail person—she had _always_  been a ‘beer-out-of-the-can’ kind of girl, with the odd gin-and-tonic of _someone else_  could be bothered to make her one. So, unsurprisingly, the pitchers of cocktails their quiz team had one, and she had drunk, had gone straight to her head.

Temari could hold her alcohol with the big guns—she could out-drink Kankuro any day—but this was dangerous. These drinks tasted like fruit juice, and they just kept on coming. She was smart, and underneath the fuzziness and slurring, she was perfectly aware that this was not going well.

And, for once, she didn’t give a shit.

Shikamaru, on the other hand, did.

He’d spotted her the second she walked in, hiding expertly underneath his scarf so she didn’t notice him, and ever since he had been sat, hidden behind a pillar, hoping that she’d never leave her seat—never see him. She had as much right to be here as him, and yet he knew if she saw him she would get up and leave. Or, at least, she _would’ve_.

He hadn’t join in with the quiz, although Chōji had violently urged him that he should, telling him he could get crisps or juice instead of the drinks they gave to winners if he just asked.

“Look,” he said as Shikamaru peered over at the blonde drinking some fantasy-coloured drink through a draw, “you can join in anytime. You’ll ace it if you do!”

“Chōji,” he argued, “I didn’t come to play a game and eat crisps. I came to be with my mate and _not_  be alone. If I’m going to feel sad anywhere, I may as well feel sad in a room full of noisy strangers.”

His friend had to stop himself reaching across the bar to hug him. “I’m sorry I have to work, man.”

“It’s fine. Just get me a drink.”

“Orange juice again?”

“No.” Shikamaru shook his head, biting on his lip. “Give me whiskey. Double.”

Chōji’s eyes widened, and his forehead creased into a worried frown. “Man, I really don’t think you want to—”

“Chōji…”

“The most you’ve drunk since you were eighteen is half a pint of weak-ass beer,” he winced, “and we all know you don’t enjoy drinking.”

Shikamaru fished out a five pound note and held it out to him. “God, you’re a pain. Keep the change, now come on.”

“Shikamaru, you don’t want this. You’ll hate me tomorrow.”

“I said _double_ , Chōji.”

The blank stare he sent his friend’s way was enough to make Chōji feel as if he’d lost a war, and he could feel the pit of his stomach growing emptier as he looked into the bleak abyss of Shikamaru’s eyes. He was going to ask what had happened but now, as he unwillingly lifted the transparent bottle and measured the liquor as required, he didn’t have the nerve. Something about the lifeless urgency in the voice of his best friend made him feel broken, and after he thought it was all getting better, too.

He snatched the money and put the glass before Shikamaru. “If it weren’t for the fact that my manager is really specific with the ‘refusal of service’ rule, you would not be getting this. You’re an idiot.”

“Love you, too,” sighed Shikamaru, swirling the glass around.

“I thought you wanted to get better Shikamaru,” growled Chōji, shaking his head, “but then you do this and just let yourself regress. I swear to God if it’s that girl—”

“It’s not her.” He knocked back the drink, squeezing his eyes shut. “Man, I forgot how _shit_  that tastes.”

Chōji only had to take one look at his blank slate of a face to know what was happening. “You’re going to bloody order another one, aren’t you?”

“And I thought you _quit_  your day job as a psychic.”

The sarcasm didn’t even begin to amuse Chōji, who shook his head and failed to find words. Only after he’d been called to help someone, minutes of staring at his expectant looking friend later, that he managed to speak. “Fine. But I’m not playing any part in it; ask someone else.”

Shikamaru frowned. “Chōji, come on.”

“No,” his friend called back as he walked to the other end of the bar. “I can’t do it.”

After only a couple of minutes of longingly waiting for Chōji to come back and throw in the towel, Shikamaru could feel himself falling into that familiar feeling of glee. Unfortunately, he knew it wasn’t real—sadly for his wallet one double wasn’t enough to fool him into genuinely feeling happy—hence the need for another. It had been so long since he’d allowed himself to do this. On occasions he’d always have one half and it would last him the whole night, and it would make him feel like he fitted in.

But this was no occasion; this was a desperate avoidance tactic, and he knew it. She was over there—the one person he simultaneously wanted to stare at the whole night and _never_  wanted to see again—and he was painfully aware of it. He didn’t want to be aware of it.

He’d been to enough sessions with enough asshole therapists to know what he was doing, and he didn’t care—he didn’t care at all. There she’d been, suggesting to him that he was really only devoted to getting better, not feeling happy, and now he just wanted to scream, “Look at me!” until she took it back; until she took _him_  back and rewired him as promise, _fixed_  him as promised…

Of course, he didn’t do that. He couldn’t be bothered to do that. Instead he waved down the smiley brunette girl behind the bar and got himself the same again, and necked it instantly, forcing a smile at her afterwards when ordering another.

But the longer he sat there, the smaller he felt. It was like when he first did this, years ago, and it wasn’t washing over him the way he expected, the way he craved. Suddenly the bar stool he perched on felt to high, and his neck felt too cold, so he threw on his coat and hopped down, drinking that last whiskey and rubbing his eyes. He couldn’t leave without saying goodbye to Chōji, and he couldn’t go home or else his mother would yell at him for drinking after so long of holding back.

Chōji was right, no matter how much he’d deny it out loud. This was all because of her, that troublesome woman. Through nobody’s fault but his own he’d built her up as this fantasy saviour; the beautiful woman who cared about him no matter what, in a way he’d never even imagined before. And as much as he’d laugh off the ridicule from his friends about his many lonesome years, he really had never thought of anyone like that. Before this—this bizarre, impossible to pin feeling—he’d never wanted to spend time with someone just for the sake of it, and he’d never wanted to listen to someone talk about nothing like he did her.

“This is it, isn’t it?” he mumbled, so quiet he could barely hear himself. “She’s got me.”

He couldn’t leave, but he could hide from her until she left, and from Chōji until the whiskey ran it’s course. And where could he hide in this pub that she was guaranteed not to go? Well, there was only one place that came to mind.

However, in his slightly drunken state as he shuffled towards his destination, the first thing Shikamaru had managed to forget that Temari still had eyes, no matter how blurry their vision was, and obviously she spotted him immediately. Stumbling to her feet, she told Gaara she was just nipping to the bathroom, and took her bag with her, slung haphazardly across her shoulder.

The second thing he forgot was that she _definitely_  had the nerve to follow him into the men’s bathroom, and that he definitely _wasn’t_  safe from her in there.

So, when she edged open the bathroom door, as subtly as a drunk woman can, and found him smoking next to a half opened window, she fumbled for the latch at the top of the door, locking it quickly. “You don’t drink my ass.”

Numbed, Shikamaru turned slowly, frowning in surprised. “T-Temari? What’re you—”

“You didn’t _actually_  want to go out with me, did you?” She slurred her words into what almost sounded like three long words, and immediately Shikamaru realised he wasn’t nearly as drunk as thought he was; or as he wanted to be.

“What are you talking about?” he sighed, exasperated.

“That’s why you didn’t make any effort to impress me. You didn’t want to did you?”

Shikamaru couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness, tapping his cigarette out of the window and letting the ash fly into the wind. “Of course I wanted to,” he insisted. “I’m just useless, Tem.”

She blinked expectantly at him, shaking her head constantly. “Bullshit.”

“Temari…”

“Temari, what?” she laughed, clearly unamused as she waved her arms about dramatically. “Temari, I’m sorry I’m a miserable git. Temari, I’m sorry I lied to you. Temari, I’m sorry I made you fancy me.”

He rubbed his eyes with one hand and took a drag with the other, strategically blowing the smoke through the window. Nothing was coming to mind to respond to her—nobody had ever silenced him in the way she did, cornered him like she did, _terrified_  him like she did.

And he almost craved it.

Trying his best to smile, he squished the butt of his cigarette on the windowsill and left it there, turning to look at her. She looked all the more beautiful tonight, but something deep within the dark depths of the subconscious he loathed so much was telling him that was due to the alcohol in both their systems, and the rosy cheeks hers had graced her with.

With all her could muster, Shikamaru leant against the wall next to the window, hands in the pocket of his coat, before he finally opened his mouth to tell the brutal truth, “Temari, I’m sorry I couldn’t bare the idea of not seeing you again.”

 _Yeah, right,_  he mused inside his mind. _As if she’s going to remember that tomorrow._

Suddenly, unexpected to him, Temari dropped her bag and advanced on him, walking in jagged lines—intense zig-zags—and he could feel his knees begin the shake. “What the hell are you doing, Tem?”

“You didn’t get it, did you?” she asked, pulling one hand from his pocket and placing it on her waist.

Gulping, Shikamaru tried his best to remove it and stay calm, but every time he almost escaped her loosening grip she grabbed his hand tighter. In the end he just kept it there, and stared into her gorgeous teal eyes with the most passive desperation. “What?”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, her lips centimetres away from his. “Why I asked you to stop seeing me as a patient.”

When she bit her lip, despite all his attempts, Shikamaru felt his knees quiver more and more. “I, um,” he mumbled, voice managing to remain steady despite his body’s weakness. “I think I need to go find your brother, and—”

“No, please don’t,” begged Temari, her nose brushing against his so delicately.

There was no denying that he wanted to hold her, and he wanted to kiss her, just as she was clearly attempting. He couldn’t lie to himself and say he hadn’t had a sleepless night wondering what the hell would’ve happened if the other night this had happened instead of their sad reality. But he didn’t want it like this.

He could only just smell the floral notes of her perfume, over the alcohol that plagued the air, and while she smelt of sweet tropical juice rather than anything evenly mildly bad, he couldn’t change the truth: they were drunk, and he didn’t want it to happen this way.

“Temari,” he whispered. “Tem, are you paying attention?”

She hummed softly, her forehead flush against his now.

“We can’t do this, love.”

A soft moan fell from her lips, and the hairs on the back his neck stood on end. “Why not?” she whined.

“Because we’ll regret it,” he sighed, himself a little upset by the fact.

“I-I won’t,” insisted Temari, stubborn as ever.

“You will,” Shikamaru corrected, smiling slightly as he pushed her away. “Can I borrow your phone?”

She frowned and held onto his shoulders for support as she stumbled backwards. “Why?”

“I just want to let your brother know you’re okay.”

It took a long time of him standing with his hand out expectantly, but eventually Temari caved with a smirk and handed him her phone. While she wasn’t quite sure why _she_  couldn’t have just done that, she didn’t question him. Probably because in that exact moment, she wasn’t quite sure about _anything_.

“There,” he mumbled, biting his lip as he handed it back. “I told him you’re getting some air and will probably make your own way home.”

“He won’t be fine with that.”

_Buzz._

She looked down at her phone and the text message that appeared on the screen.

**_Fine. See you later :)_ **

“Okay, maybe he _will_ ,” groaned Temari, “but where the hell are we going?”

Shikamaru shrugged, hands in pockets as he watched, amused, as she tried to slot her phone into her bag. “I can take you home?”

“And risk Kankuro punching you?” she cackled laughing.

“Then that’s a no.”

“Take me home with you.”

He almost choked on his own spit. “What?”

“ _Please_ ,” she whined. “Take me home with you.”

“No!”

“Why?”

“Because you’ll wake up in the night and punch me.” He could hear himself, and the melodrama he was spouting, but he still didn’t sound worried, as such.

“Then where?”

Shikamaru bit down on his lip and accepted the arm she slung around his shoulders. “I have an idea.”

* * *

 

“No.”

“But Chōji,” he pleaded, this time taking the role of the whining one, “neither of us can go home.”

Chōji shook his head. “I’m not giving you whiskey _and_  letting you bang your therapist in the same night. I already feel like a shit friend as it is.”

“I’ve sabotaged myself here, man,” insisted Shikamaru. “And I promise we won’t do that. I just want to make sure she has somewhere to sleep, man.”

“She has a house!”

“Where she’ll talk about me and then everyone will feel even more shit than already.” He raised his eyebrows. “Man, I didn’t ask for her to follow me into the bathroom.”

Surprised, Chōji’s mouth fell open. “She didn’t?”

“Yeah, she’s smashed.”

“She needs to go home.”

Shikamaru nodded, sighing.

“You’re still drunk, aren’t you?”

“Only with the words, man. Brain is doing fine.”

Chōji raised his eyebrows and smiled at his friend, pulling him in for a hug, which Shikamaru begrudgingly accepted. “If you hug me back you can have the keys to my flat?”

The thinner man hugged tighter than he ever had.

“They’re in my coat out back. Use that door.”

Shikamaru smirked. He had a true friend in this guy, and he found out as much more every single day.

* * *

 

Temari sighed, throwing her spoon into the plastic bowl Shikamaru had given her and fell back into the couch. “I can’t believe we’re literally above a fish and chip shop and you didn’t let me buy any.”

“You shouted at the guy that you would ‘kiss in return for fish’.”

“Damn right I did,” she giggled.

Shikamaru chuckled. “And I thought I was the asshole.”

“You definitely are.”

“Tem, I just cooked you pasta at, like, twelve-a.m.”

“You’re right,” nodded Temari. “You’re a saint.”

He looked over at her and smiled, almost sadly. Chōji’s flat was very small, a room with a bed and a wardrobe, and another with a small kitchen and a couch, but Temari had made herself right at home. He couldn’t help but admire how she did that. Not taking into account the fact that she was drunk out of her mind, he also couldn’t believed the way she was slowly sinking towards him, arms wrapping around him.

“You’re wonderful, Maru.”

His eyebrows raised. “Maru. New one.”

Temari looked up, hurt. “You don’t like it.”

“I don’t care,” he mumbled. “You go ahead.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, tracing patterns on his chest through his shirt. “You’re really wonderful.”

“You said.” If you couldn’t see inside his head, you’d have thought he was fed up of hearing that brilliant sentence. “You should go to sleep, Tem,” he added, changing the subject.

“I was stupid to make you feel so small. I made you feel like shit, didn't I?”

“You didn’t,” he lied, letting her position his arms to hold her. “Just get some rest.”

“You’re wonderful, you know?”

Shikamaru smiled, the most real and fulfilling smile he’d had in a long time. “So are you, Tem. So are you…”


	18. The Foreign Couch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Temari wakes up somewhere she doesn't recognise to a note and strange voice.

As her eyes fluttered open, before she could even realise how foreign her surroundings were or who’s sofa she was on, Temari’s vision locked on the carton cigarettes on the coffee table. Beside it on the table, with a lighter on top of it, was a bright pink stack of sticky-notes, the top of which covered in a jagged scrawl.

> _‘Temari—don’t know if you remember even seeing me last night, but I brought you here so you had a bed to sleep in and didn’t have to go home. It’s my buddy’s flat, not mine. I’ve got to dash off to work—big job—which is good, I guess, so we don’t have to talk about last night. Chōji’s easy, so don’t sweat it if you’re here all day.’_

She could feel her cheeks burning; what the _hell_  had she done? She remembered nothing, which couldn’t have made her feel more of an idiot if she wanted to. What could have possible ensued that meant she had told him that she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, go home.

Quickly, she grabbed her phone from on the desk and checked the time, squinting at the brightness and ignoring the dozens of unread messages that crowded the screen. She couldn’t afford it to be late—she had work, it was only freaking Wednesday.

“Seven-thirty,” she mumbled to herself. “That’s got to be the earliest I’ve ever woken up after a night out…”

“Shikamaru?” A foreign sound filtered in from the other room.

Temari froze at the strange voice.

“You’re dressed, aren’t you, Shikamaru?”

“Um,” she mumbled, rubbing her temples. The volume was almost too much. “I’m sorry, what?”

Clearly not hearing here the voice continued. “Man, you’re at least wearing underwear right—oh!” As he leaned around the door, Temari locked eyes with a familiar brown-haired man whose eyes were wide. Anxiously, he smiled and slowly rubbed together his hands. “Oh, um, where has he…?”

She could feel a lump in her throat, her embarrassment almost silencing her as she pulled the blanket that covered her body up to her chin. “Work, I think.” Her finger extended towards the sticky note.

“Ah,” he acknowledged, wincing nervously. “Well, I’m Chōji, by the way. You must be—”

“Temari, yeah.”

“Temari,” repeated Chōji, smiling a little more. “It’s good to meet you. He’s mentioned you a lot.”

“You, too.”

“Well, I remember you from the pub.”  
“What?”

“I work there, and you collected _a lot_  of pitchers last night,” he chuckled.

Temari’s hands covered her face, flushing red and boiling her. “Oh, shit. You do, don’t you? You must think so ill of me.”

“For what?”

“For everything,” she winced. “How much I drank last night, the fact I’m somehow _here_ , in your damn apartment…”

Chōji laughed. “Not at all. If you’re helping my best pal. As far as I’m concerned you’re a brilliant person for that alone.”

“I don’t know if I _am_  helping. Can I really help anyone when I go out on a Tuesday night and end up on a stranger’s sofa the next morning?”

The question was rhetorical, and no part of her expected the young man to come out with an answer, but she watched as Chōji opened his mouth and began to praise. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You know Friday night last week?” he asked, eager, “he was excited to see you. Granted it was _Shikamaru_  excited, but I can tell, you know? I’ve known him my whole life.”

Everything about this situation was making Temari uncomfortable. On top of the fact that work started in forty-five minutes, she had dozens of missed calls and messages that she _knew_  would be from her brothers—and that she had to answer them before they, in a fit of panic, reported her missing to one organisation or another. Not to mention, she was here; on the man before her’s sofa, huddled under a blanket and probably looking a complete state with an undeniable hangover. Nothing was normal, nothing fit in, and yet through all her embarrassment she couldn’t let the stubborn need to burrow deep into the truth subside. No amount of blushing head to toe, or frustrating confusion she felt upon reading that sticky note before her, could stop her opening her big mouth just one more time.

Temari winced, sitting up and rubbing her temples. “Then can I pick your brain?”

Much to the blonde’s surprise, he nodded inquisitively. “Sure.”

This was it; her moment to grab the raw facts, as long as she remembered them. Hastily she grabbed a sticky note from the pile on the table, and the pen that had rolled beneath it. “Asuma Sarutobi…”

“I thought that might be it.” The volume of his voice lowered, and his tone lost so much enthusiasm he almost seemed like a different man.

“You did?”

Chōji nodded solemnly, “He shifted when Mr Sarutobi died. He taught me, too, and our other friend, Ino—he tell you about her?” He waited for her to nod in agreement before continuing. “But we aren’t as clever as him—he was always the smart one.”

“No kidding,” she mumbled, smiling to herself a little. When she noticed him mirroring her expression, she frowned, wiping it away. Moments of professionalism came ever fewer and farther between when it came to Shikamaru; she had to at least keep it together in front of his friend. “Were you not close to him, too? You and your friend, I mean.”

“Oh, yeah,” he agreed, “but only _because_  of Shikamaru. Mr Sarutobi always got us out of trouble if we were in it—he always thought the three of us were a good team, good for each other in every way.” Chōji wandered towards the kitchen area and opened one of the upper cupboards, fishing out an opened, fairly large bag of crisps. “Shikamaru was always _way_  closer to him—they connected on an intellectual level. Unlike me who barely passed maths.”

She didn’t like the way he was almost laughing at himself. “You don’t see yourself as stupid just because of Shikamaru, do you?”

A flood of relief shot through her when she saw Chōji grin. “No, not at all. I mean, I used to back in school, but I was young, and like most people I wanted to be everything that I wasn’t. But I know I’m not dumb, and that I never was. Shikamaru is just insanely bright, and Mr Sarutobi knew it. Plus, the two of them were likeminded; it was inevitable that they’d get on.”

Temari nodded, jotting down the odd phrase on her note. “Chōji, would you say he spent a bit _too much_  time with this man?”

“I dunno, really. He’d go see him after school sometimes, and every lunch break he’d go and sit in his classroom, play chess or solve some problem,” he replied. “Ino and I never joined in—thought it was dull as hell, honestly.”

“So he was never obsessed with the guy?”

“No, just looked up to him, I guess.”

Temari gulped, aware how it was almost rude to be prying into his life behind his back. “I don’t want to sound awful, but I want to clarify something he’s told is true…”

“That’s not bad,” chuckled Chōji, shovelling down a mouthful of crisps. “He’s always been a good liar, so I can’t blame you.”

The mere idea she’d been fooled by him more than once made her teeth clench, and she bit on her lip. “His dad _is_  a nice guy, right? And he’s alive, well, around a lot?”

He nodded, chewing, humming positively before he swallowed. “Oh, yeah. Shikaku is a great guy, man. Like my second dad!”

“Is he like Shikamaru?”

The nodding ceased. “I guess so,” began Chōji, his voice wavering. “I don’t want to say he’s got his head together more than Shikamaru but…”

“But he has?”

He was grateful for the humorous look in her eyes. “Yeah. He’s always just wanted the best for Shikamaru. Never pestered him, wasn’t massively strict—he was military so he’d go for a month every now and then, but he’d always come back. Yeah, I don’t know, he was just always fairly nice and, well, _completely_   _chill_.”

“Hence Shikamaru?”

“Hence Shikamaru,” he repeated, smirking. “He learned all of his bad habits from his dad; the white-lying, the eye rolls, etcetera. Not the smoking though—that was Mr Sarutobi.”

Temari frowned, readjusting herself a little more. “Aren’t teachers prohibited from influencing kids to do stuff like that?”

“Yeah, but…” Chōji faltered, sighing. “I mean as soon exam season came about in our last year he’d go with Mr Sarutobi after school to the edge of the campus and they’d have a smoke. They stopped for a while after that, until he died and he left Shikamaru his lighter. He doesn’t use it—he’s too afraid to. He just clicks it incessantly.” He chuckled a little. “I’d break it if it wasn’t so previous to him.”

She forced a smile, trying to recall a time he’d flicked his lighter around her, but she couldn’t. Maybe he was always too on edge around her to do the things he does with his friends—to relax properly.

Despite the little rush of sadness that thought brought her, she cleared her throat and continued. “One more thing, Chōji—sorry for wasting your time—his wife, _Asuma’s_  wife…does she still live around town?”

He shrugged, shoving his hand into the bag and pulling out another handful of crisps. “I’m not sure. Why?”

_You don’t need to disclose that, Temari. Shut your mouth._

Her mouth overrode her thoughts too quickly. “Because I think if he sees that her and her daughter are okay there might be a shift.” The words rushed out, fast and without ease. “I think he’s yet to accept his death, because despite it being years he doesn’t seem to have managed it yet.”

“He _definitely_  hasn’t managed it yet.”

Temari, sadly, smiled as she pushed the blanket aside, exposing the clothes she’d worn last night. “He told me you were a good friend, Chōji,” she sighed, “but you’re much kinder than I ever expected. Like, I wasn’t expecting fine with a stranger sleeping on your couch cool.”

He smiled. “As long as nobody’s hurt and everyone’s okay, I’m easy.”

Her blonde hair wiggled across her shoulders as she shook her head, wrought with disbelief. “How on earth do you put up with him with such ease?”

“He’s my brother, these days.” He shrugged, eating another few crisps. “I’d be lost without him.”

“I applaud you,” she laughed, softly. “I really do.”

“And I applaud you.”

Unable to form a proper, grateful sentence, Temari hoisted herself to her feet, brushing off her front as she wobbled side to side. Her head turned and her vision blurred slightly at the sudden rush, but finally her eyes set on her bag, placed neatly on the kitchen worktop near where Choji stood. With a deep breath she hurried over and grabbed it, smiling awkwardly at Chōji as he watched her, finally shoving the sticky note she’d taken notes on inside.

“He did stay the night, too,” chuckled Chōji, motioning towards the corner of the room as she somewhat helplessly looked around for her boots. “I got in at two-thirty, and the pair of you were asleep there on the cough together.”

Temari was so overwhelmed by the heat that rushed up her neck to her face that she almost wanted to hit him, but only after she hit herself for the shake in her knees upon thinking about it. “Well,” she croaked out, biting her lip as she pulled on her boots. “I should give him his cigarettes back.”

“You sure you don’t want me to do it?”

“No,” she insisted, “I think I really ought to talk to him about some stuff, anyway.”

“You guys fight yesterday or something like that?”

“Yeah, something like that…”

Temari threw her hair up in a ponytail, trying to avoid the eyes she felt on the back of her neck as she pulled out a couple of strands, that refused to cooperate, to frame her face. Quickly, she reached back over to the coffee table and grabbed her phone. There were dozens of messages she needed to send to apologise to Gaara and Kankuro for not telling them, but it was seven-fifty, and so one thing stuck out more than anything: she was going to be late for work.

For a moment, she stood contemplating if she _could_  make it on time, and whether she even wanted to, but the moment she felt her head spin after staring too long at the screen she knew she only really had one option.

She dialled the number for reception. “Hi. Jo?” she asked, putting on her sickly sweet and completely false telephone voice, and watching as Chōji almost choked on his crisps with the giggles. “It’s Temari, yeah. Jo, look: I don’t know what’s wrong with me but I think I’m going to have to take a sick day.” She coughed, and frowned at Chōji’s weak attempts to pull himself together. “Yeah, I’m feeling truly awful, and I’m pretty sure some more elderly patients and I…” She paused, biting on her lip. It wasn’t _completely_  a lie.

Chōji snickered to himself, putting the bag on the counter behind him and shaking his head. “Wow…” he muttered, only for Temari to put her finger to her lips, frowning.

“Yeah, that’s exactly it, Jo,” she lied. “I don’t want them to catch it. Thank you…hopefully see you tomorrow.” She coughed again, just for good measure. “Bye.”

It was impossible to ignore the smirking from across the room as she reached for the cigarettes and lighter on the table.

“What?” she asked.

“You,” he chuckled. “You’re quite the liar yourself.”

“Not true.”

“You lie in order to help, not hurt.”

She sighed, shaking her head and grabbing her bag from beside him and throwing Shikamaru’s forgotten bits into it. “I am putting off helping like half a dozen people by lying, here. I’d hardly say that’s truly helpful.”

Chōji smiled again, the mocking fading by the second. “Maybe I’m biased, but you’re helping him, aren’t you? And that’s enough.”

“Thank you, Chōji,” she mumbled, blushing slightly as she held out her hand, “for everything, and I’m sorry for invading you space.”

“It wasn’t your choice, really,” laughed Chōji, reaching out to shake it, “but don’t mention it.”

With a final smile, she started to walk away, making sure to whip out of her phone and message Gaara.

_**‘Hey. So sorry I went MIA - I’m okay and at a friend’s. Not feeling good. Will explain later.’** _

As usual, not _completely_  a lie.

“I’m a hugger, by the way.”

Her head whipped road, ponytail flailing. “I’m sorry?”

Chōji gave her a bright smile. “I’m a hugger. Just so you know if we run into each other again.”

“Okay?” she replied, smiling slightly.

“You’re not.”

Temari shook her head. “It just depends. I’ll see you around.”

He found himself giggling into his bag of potato chips as she left, pleased with himself that he’d finally managed to have a conversation with the fabled Temari she always heard so much about. Shikamaru was right, she was confusing, but that had come from the most confusing person he knew. Chōji only hoped that his little series of answers had helped her, in one way or another, to unravel that confusion.

* * *

 

When her feet found their way to the high street, it took only second for her to become massively aware that any minute her brother may appear on his way to work, and she had _nothing_  yet prepared to explain her whereabouts last night. He’d found it weird enough that she’d wanted to join in with Gaara’s pub quiz—something she’d often slated—and he’d certainly be expecting an explanation as to why she was wandering down the dim-lit high street at eight-o’clock in the morning.

Still, despite that Temari couldn’t help but observe how ghostly things were at this wintry hour, glazed in a blanketing mist that she felt like she’d shatter each time she took a step. The shops, other than the bakery whose neon red ‘OPEN’ sign shone through the gloom, weren’t even open yet, and she couldn’t help but wonder why exactly he’d had to leave so early for work. Didn’t most shops on this street open around eight-thirty? And she definitely didn’t think Shikamaru had it in him to turn up so tremendously early.

But then she saw it as she approached, the light flooding through the huge windows of the flower shop and onto the pavement, and she understood automatically. The place, from what she could see metres away, was full of massive beautiful bouquets of white and purple, covering every surface and every inch of the floor. Everything was tied with soft purple ribbon, and Temari couldn’t help but stop and stare, dumbfounded by a sea of her favourite colour. While she knew it was silly, her stomach grew fluttery at the coincidence.

There was a muffled shout from through the glass, low in pitch, and her whole body stiffened in a second. Only a moment later two boots—two scuffed boots she recognised all too well—appeared on the stairs at the side of the shop, only for him to sluggishly step down. She couldn’t see his face, obscured by yet another bouquet in his arms, but Temari didn’t need to see to know it was Shikamaru.

She had to hope that the bouquet and his business were together enough to distract him from her undeniable staring as she backed away slightly, wishing for the mist to envelope her. But slowly, the mist was disappearing, and the light of the morning was coming fast. Yes, Temari _had_  come to see him and return what he’d left at Chōji’s, but now she’d seen him her legs were jelly and her heart was thumping as though she’d run a marathon. Why did it do this to her; a couple more steps and she was sure that she’d collapse.

As he placed down the bouquet it what appeared to be the last remaining spot in the corner, Temari readied herself to rush in through the door, throw him the cigarettes and apologise. But after a single step forward, she stopping, watching as from half way up the stairs a lady with a long blonde threw her arms around his shoulders in a huge hug.

All of a sudden, Temari wanted nothing more than to storm in, up to him, place the cigarettes firmly in his hand and hug him herself, as if this was some childish game, but she couldn’t. Instead she stood frozen, mouth agape, eyebrows raised, and uncomfortably aware of the blonde girl’s laughter and the undeniable slight smile that graced Shikamaru’s lips.

Temari’s heart throbbed more than she cared to admit as she stood watching, waiting for it to be over. She knew exactly who that who that is—it was the girl he said annoyed him, the friend Choji had mentioned earlier: Ino. However she couldn’t help but notice that she wasn’t annoying him at all. He was smiling, and he hadn’t pushed her off despite the strength he surely possessed—the girl was thin after all.

 _Much thinner than me,_  Temari thought to herself bitterly. _Bitch_.

She tried to shake herself out of the childish mindset she held, perfectly aware the affect alcohol was probably still having on her mind, only to watch Ino saunter down the rest of the stairs, giving him a proper hug at the bottom. Deep in her mind, for some unknown reason, she begged him not return the kind gesture. And though she knew it was truly pathetic, when he inevitably did—though somewhat slowly—she felt her breath hitch in her throat

_Why couldn’t I have met him in school or something? Some time when everything would’ve been okay…_

As her body drooped and her hand reached into her bag, Temari had to squeeze her eyes shut to shut out the jealousy that was threatening to emerge. No, it couldn’t be jealousy—she couldn’t be jealous of anyone for anything, let alone a man she’d only known a month, only spent a very short time with. That was just ridiculous! But then why did it bother her so much to see these too people hugging? They were just two people who’ve known each other their whole lives, friends forever, who have no obligation to do anything she wants.

And why did it make her feel so small, so upsettingly insignificant, that she wanted to throw his cigarettes to the floor and run away?

“Temari?”

She span, startled, to see Kankuro stood outside his shop across the road, keys in hand,  and utterly confused.

“Sis, what the hell are you doing?”

She rubbed her face, painfully aware that she was still wearing the same clothes she’d left the house in last night. “I’m not going to work,” she spat, a little too quickly. “I feel so unwell, and I’m in no way in the right headspace to be successfully _analysing_  people.”

Kankuro looked worried, abandoning unlocking the door and crossing the road toward her. “You didn’t come home last night. Not to be annoying but, well, Gaara and I did have a panic. We rang you, like, fifty times.”

“I _did_  see. I’m sorry.”

“Where the hell did you go?”

She gulped. “To a _friend’s_ place.”

“On your own?” he growled.

“With another…friend.” She looked down and started to pick at her fingernails nervously.

Her brother wasn’t stupid, but he could see she wasn’t all there. “If you’re sick, Tem, why haven’t you gone home?”

“I only came here because it was on-route,” she lied. “Plus, I really wanted a Danish.”

With a smile, he hopped up the kerb and pulled her in for a hug. It was all that she needed, through she didn’t know it until she was safe in his arms. Kankuro wasn’t good for much—he ate her food and pissed her off daily—but he always made her feel safe, and it was perfect right now. Her arms flew round him, squeezing tightly, and while usually she’d hate showing how soft she was to him, right now was certainly an exception.

Kankuro pressed a gentle kiss on his older sisters head, rubbing her back softly, at first only glad to have found her okay, even to a mild degree, and on her way home. But something wasn’t quite right, he could feel it, and when his eyes opened over her shoulder, he could see exactly what he’d expected.

Shikamaru’s mouth fell open slightly, and through the window their eyes snapped onto one another. While the younger man stood powerless through the glass, Kankuro’s grip grew tighter around his sister, and his eyes narrowed heavily. Clearly trying to ignore the stare on him, he watched as Shikamaru put his hands in his pockets and weaved in and out of bouquets towards the counter, grabbing a clip-board, freezing for a second before looking back.

But Kankuro didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of eye contact. Instead, he pulled away from the hug, gentle holding Temari’s shoulders. “Do you want me to come with you?” he asked her, softly, smiling down at her. “I could do with a croissant.”

Temari shook her head, returning the grin thankfully. “I really want to be alone today.”

He nodded, hesitant to let her go alone. “Okay,” he mumbled, pulling her in for yet another quick hug. “You be careful—shout me if you need a lift. I’ll get one of the boys to hold the fort if you need me to drop you home.”

She couldn’t help smiling properly and playfully hitting his arm. “You haven’t offered me a lift in your car since the day you bought it when you were seventeen,” she giggled. “But I’m okay thank you.”

Slowly, Temari spun around and strode towards the bakery, fumbling in her bag for her purse, and Kankuro’s eyes never lost sight of her until the bell on the top of the door rang, and the soft thump of it shutting echoed down the street.

Then, as a predator watches it’s prey, his gaze shot round, back through the bright lighted windows of the florist, and the helpless, scruffy mess of a man—clipboard and flowers in hand—caught sight of Kankuro’s dark eyes once more. He too, shaking his head, turned on his heel and walked away, crossing the road toward his shop.

“You’re involved in this,” Kankuro muttered as he turned the key in the door, allowing himself one last look before all the shops came equally as alive. “I just know it.”


	19. Spiky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shikamaru has a lot to deal with this morning, apparently.

Shikamaru sipped on piping hot coffee like cold water, ticking off the many bouquets they’d already completely sorted today on a clipboard Ino had shouted for him to ‘be useful with’. Downstairs he could hear her whistling cheerfully. She was nothing short of bright and breezy, perfectly content with her morning already, and the sun was only just fully risen. While he sort of understood the joy Ino got from a huge order running smoothly, and the overjoyed look on someone’s face when said order was collected with glee, he couldn’t help but notice the mammoth task that drew up along side it; the stress, the labour, the early start.

With another sip, he ticked off another few boxes next to the same name, and his mind began to wander to _her_. If it weren’t for his early start he’d have had to have faced her—spoken to her about the night before—and that was something he wasn’t quite sure he could do, not yet. When he’d left her she was sound asleep, and had clung onto his sleeve like a child clings to their favourite toy.

It tore him a little to pull it away from her, and the fear that had flown through his body that the yanking of the fabric might’ve woken her was ridiculous to him. It scared him half to death to have to face the consequences of waking her at six-o’clock, but not nearly as much as the idea of having to explain to her why it was she was gripping him in the first place.

At least, that had _seemed_  scary until he’d looked out the window at the sound of a deep voice, and found himself looking deep into the dark eyes of someone who he was beginning to believe he had every right to be afraid of.

“Kankuro…” he mumbled to himself, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

The way his arms had engulfed the blonde woman he had to assume was Temari was horrible; not because of malice or brutality but because of the intense care with which he held her. This was a man Shikamaru had watched sling wood around his shop, back and forth and through the door, dozens and dozens of times—he was a very _manly_  man from what he could tell, and to see him grow so suddenly affectionate made him only worry further.

Had he upset Temari even more? _Was that even possible?_

Sitting back, he grabbed his coffee in his hands and took a large gulp, ignoring the burning at the back of his throat as his eyes wandered across the walls. There were so many pictures of so many different flowers, including ones that he didn’t even know the name of after five years of working here, and he scanned every one with the same question in mind: what flowers, if any, would Temari want?

However, even if she miraculously _would_ , how on earth would he give them to her? Surely he’d have to send them to her office anonymously. He had no business going back there himself, but given that he had no idea where she lived and leaving them at the carpenter’s for Kankuro to give to her was most certainly out of the question if he wanted to keep his balls.

“Who am I kidding?” he groaned, throwing his head back, lazily. “I’m never going to bloody see her again…”

She’d been so sharp with him yesterday at the office; it didn’t matter whether or not he wasted his money on flowers, she wouldn’t accept them. Or, at least, she wouldn’t accept them _sober_ …

Shikamaru couldn’t deny that she was far less terrifying when she was drunk, and way less brash. When she wasn’t sober he could talk to her without fear that she’d call him out on his irresponsibility or his wrongdoings, but it wasn’t right. Temari was the way she was meant to be when she was sober, and whether he was afraid of her now or not, he still felt the same way when he looked at her.

When he’d left her this morning he’d felt the biggest swarm of guilt building in the bottom of his gut, and it bore no relevance to the anger resonating from their session or her wandering hands in the pub bathroom. All that had provoked it was that he didn’t want to leave her— _Temari_ : the woman who despite her harsh tone, could smile so sweetly that the world felt peaceful for a moment; a woman whose eyes could hold his far longer than anyone without feeling awkward (or at least that’s how it _had_  been.)

She’d called him wonderful last night, so many times he’d lost count. Hell, she’d told him so many times, with that drunk, dumb grin on her lips, that he’d almost believed her; almost leant down and kissed her forehead to send her off to sleep. That smile was consistent through the sobriety and the drunkenness. It was the constant to her ever-changing nature, and it was what captivated him more than anything else about her.

It told him, oh so simply, who she was at her very core.

“That’s it…”

His eyes settled finally on the row of succulents on the top shelf in the corner of the room, and he knew instantly that that was it—it was what he would buy her, if he ever plucked up the nerve to do so.

Shikamaru forced his attention by to his clipboard, downing the final gulp of caffeine to get him going again, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly.

“Shikamaru!”

His eyes rolled to the back of his head as it fell forward into his hands, the flicker of a smile he’d grown thinking of Temari disappearing instantly. He was past exhausted in every sense of the world, and the woman knew that. “What _now_ , Ino?” he called back, his voice croaky.

“Someone’s here!”

“She’s here already?” His head perked up, and he examined the board in front of him in a flash. “I thought she was coming at half past!”

“No, not the lady for these things! Someone else!”

Shikamaru sighed.

“Don’t sit up there and huff, get down here!” In a softer, calmer voice, he could hear Ino mutter, “Please do excuse my colleague.”

“This is a shop, Ino,” he called, hauling himself to his feet and throwing his apron back on, “and you work here, also. Maybe _you_  could take the order?”

“They’ve asked to see you! God knows why they’d want to though!” And there is was again: “I _seriously_ am so sorry about him…”

He dragged his feet towards the stairs, tying a final lazy knot at the front of his apron and taking a single step down. “Hello,” he mumbled, his voice carrying a lot further than he’d anticipated. Noticing ink on his thumb, he smeared it across the bottom of his apron and took another step. “Welcome to the Yamanaka flower shop, how can I—oh.”

“Shikamaru.”

“Hello, um, Kankuro,” he sighed, his hand back on his neck as he trudged his way slowly down the remaining stairs.

On the way up there seemed too many, so why now on his way down did it seem so few?

“Nice to see you again.”

Shikamaru wanted to laugh—he would’ve if the guy didn’t have arms twice the size of his own. “How exactly can I help you _absurdly early_  on a Wednesday morning?”

The glare Ino gave him instilled no fear whatsoever by comparison to the way Kankuro shifted his weight as he crossed his arms. “You’ll find that absurdly early is two-thirty this morning,” he spat, “when I was up worrying about where she was.”

A jolt shot through Shikamaru’s body and instinctively he fell back, taking a seat on the steps. It was a mistake, it gave the already larger guy the higher ground.

 _Wow_ , he thought. _Bit blunt, huh?_

“I’m, um, sorry, man.” He shook his head in dismissal. “I don’t know what you’re—”

“Excuse me, sir. _Sir_?”

Ino flew between the pair of them, holding her hands together before her, forcing the brightest of smiles. Sometimes she drove him nuts, but sometimes to Shikamaru she was a saint.

“I’m sorry,” she giggled, “but unless you’re buying something would you mind, um…” She shot Shikamaru a desperate glance behind her before turning back, biting her lip.

Kankuro frowned. “Would I mind what?”

“Sorry,” she repeated, growing increasingly more agitated as she bounced up and down. “Would you mind laying off him a little? Only we’re _super duper_  busy this morning, and I could reall do with Shikamaru having _all_  of his limbs.” Dramatically, she gestured to the many flowers that donned every last inch of the shop. “Busy, busy.”

Despite the soldier-like build the man had being undoubtedly his most obvious feature, Shikamaru could see by the raising of his eyebrows and the instant shift in his personality after hearing her girly giggle that he was a smart man, and a good liar. The grin he plastered over his face, and the harmless shake of his head as he uncrossed his arms seemed far too familiar to Shikamaru to ignore. The man could lie—act, even—as well as Shikamaru could himself, almost as though he’d been trained to, but from what he’d heard about the guy from Temari it almost made sense. He was the middle child, after all, and he recalled on Saturday night she’d called him an asshole through gentle laughs. Clearly he’d done some mischief in his time, and by the look in his eyes he wasn’t about to stop now.

“Busy indeed,” he repeated, chuckling in his new-found sweet tone. “But, sorry, yes! I want something for my sister.”

Shikamaru grew rigid, his lip so tightly between his teeth he almost thought he could taste blood.

Ino smiled, totally oblivious and shooting a Shikamaru a calmer smile. “Of course! Anything in particular?”

He shrugged, looking at Shikamaru, who’s hands were now busy rolling up his sleeves. “I don’t know. What do you suggest?”

“Well, personally, I like the purple chrysanthemums and pink lilies best. Smell beautiful and brighten the room.”

“And what do _you_  suggest?”

Shikamaru’s eyebrows rose, not looking up. Yes, he was afraid, but he didn’t need Kankuro to know it. “I’d go for cacti.”

He heard a scoff from the brunette’s direction. “What did you say?”

“Cacti,” he repeated, much slower, finally looking up with a straight face. “They’re manageable, not too troublesome…”

“Unlike you…”

“Sir, I don’t think—”

“Ino,” Shikamaru interrupted politely, shuffling to one side of the stairs and pointing upwards. “I think I messed up the list upstairs. You go sort that and I’ll, um, _handle_  this.”

Hesitantly, the blonde nodded, tapping his shoulder reassuringly as she sidled past him. As  he listened to her footsteps above him, eyes fixated on the throughly wound-up man before him, Shikamaru couldn’t help but gulp. Slowly—and so damn  _nervously_ —he made his way down the last few steps, and began shuffling through the maze of bouquets across the floor.

“You know too much about her.”

“Excuse me?”

His scoff only topped off Shikamaru’s ever-present knowledge that he could squash him in a second. “I cannot believe she told you.”

“Told me?” he groaned. “Sorry, but I actually have no clue what you’re saying.”

“Mum.” Kankuro’s eyes narrowed, reddening. For a moment, Shikamaru thought he heard his breath hitch in his throat, and he watched as the older man squeezed his eyes shut in tandem with his fists, shaking his head. “She told you about our mother, didn’t she?”

He knew to be blunt would be awful, and yet in his current mindset all he could muster was, “That she, um, died?”

“No—about the cacti, dumb-ass,” spat Kankuro, edging forward. “About how we keep cacti because Mum used to.”

Shikamaru frowned, stepping behind the desk as if it offered some miraculous layer of protection. “No, I just thought it suited her,” he replied honestly. “I didn’t mean to hit a nerve.”

“Forget it. We have too many of the things at home.”

Shikamaru stayed silent. His hand instinctively went to the back of his neck, and his fingertip wove into the hair across the bottom of his hairline, coaxing it out of its hold. The longer he stared into Kankuro’s eyes, so clearly weaker than before—though still undeniably intimidating—that he couldn’t help but wonder what his _real_  problem was. Surely he knew that Shikamaru was his sister’s _patient_ , and that meant that he was mentally unstable to some degree. Surely he understood that maybe confronting someone that you _know_  must have troubles, though you don’t know what, maybe wasn’t the kindest or smartest thing to do.

But despite the watery glaze over his eyes, he didn’t seem to be letting up quite yet.

“You really don’t know who she stayed with last night?” he snarled. “Because Gaara said he thought he saw you.”

“Of course not,” he lied. “Sure, I was at the pub but I had a few drinks and just went home, you know?” Something in him grew a little cocky, and he leaned back against the stool he kept behind the counter for when the shop floor grew barren. What made him think it was a good idea to smile was beyond his comprehension, but he couldn’t stop himself narrowing his eyes with a slight grin and shaking his head. “I’m sorry, man, but what is this _actually_  about?”

Kankuro seemed thrown. “Well, _clearly_ it’s about my sister.”

“But why ask me? You just saw her, didn’t you?”

 _Don’t push it—he has a shop_ full _of sharp tools and machinery._

“If you saw me, so did you.”

“Through the _window_ ,” agreed Shikamaru. “I looked out cause I heard voices and there you guys were—only human, isn’t it, to be curious?”

The sad glint in Kankuro’s eyes was quickly vanishing. “I saw your face, kid. _You’re_ involved in this, and she came here to see _you_. I don’t know why, but she did.”

Nervously, Shikamaru laughed, biting down on his lip. “Well, that makes two of us.”

“Shikamaru?”

Ino’s voice rang down from upstairs, and for once of only a few times in his life, he was thankful for her big mouth.

Graciously, he smiled. “I’m sorry, but I reckon she’ll have my head if I don’t go and help her.”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

Eyebrows raised, Shikamaru froze. “Um, _me neither_?”

“You’re a sarcastic git, you know that?” With a shake of his head and a very forced chuckle, Kankuro stepped back. He tripped slightly on a piece of ribbon, and it took all of Shikamaru’s weak will to not laugh at his loss of composure. “Just stay away from her, yeah?” he grumbled, staring right at Shikamaru. “She doesn’t need this.”

He watched him stalk away, listening to the haunting ring of the bell on the door again before he jogged across the road and into his own shop. It was terrifying to know that such a person worked only seconds from him, everyday; that he knew his name, and that he’d go so far as to tell him he didn’t want to hurt him, as if he _actually would._

Ino must’ve called to him a dozen more times before he finally shouted her back, shuffling through the bouquets once again, wondering where that sudden burst of confidence had come from, and why exactly he hadn’t just stayed quiet.

“Why do I always put my damn foot in it…”

“What?”

“Nothing, Ino,” he grumbled, rubbing his eyes as he put his foot up on the first step. “Can you chuck me my jacket quick? I need a smoke.”

“I just asked you to come here and—”

From behind him, the bell on the door rang again, the sound resonating through his mind so loud he tuned out of what Ino was saying. Minutes: it had taken only minutes for him to come back and scathe him some more, grill him until he told the truth, and Shikamaru didn’t have the backbone for it—he was, in his own mind, a total coward. Closing his eyes, and taking a couple of audibly deep breaths, he finally stepped down from his spot on the stairs.

“Well,” he mused quietly to himself, his palm— _so predictably_ —against his neck, “that didn’t take you long. I thought you said you didn’t want to hurt me.”

“What the hell do you mean? I said that?”

His eyes flew open, and his neck craned to look round, almost dumbfounded by the owner of the voice. “Oh,” he finally managed. “Hi.”

“You, um, need to sort that nervous tick,” Temari joked, her own voice weak and shaky, much like her hand, which she held out before her. “And, um…I thought I should return them.”

Shikamaru bit down on his lip, letting his hand drop due to his acute awareness of it’s position. He fell back onto the stairs, sitting, and smiled at the familiar pink sticky note sat atop the carton of cigarettes and lighter in her hand. As grateful and warmed as his chest felt, the look in his eyes, slightly avoiding hers, spoke volumes.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she retorted, eyebrows raised. “You need them.”

He couldn’t help but smile a little. “I was just about to have one.”

“Of course you were.”

Desperate to hide the sheepish grin on his lips, and the awkward feeling brewing in his stomach, Shikamaru hauled himself up and reached his hand up the stairs a little. “Oi, Ino! I said can you chuck me my— _ah_!” He yelled with surprise as his coat landed on his head, accompanied by high pitch laughter from upstairs.

“Need me to come help the customer?” she called down, clearly trying it tone it down.

“Nah, I’ve got it…” He groaned, throwing on his coat and looking at Temari. “What?”

She bit down on her lip. “I think we need to talk.”

All he could do was nod and grab the contents of her hand as he edged past her, holding the door open for her to follow him. As the bell rang, he shuddered. “Just make sure your brother doesn’t see us, alright?”

Temari frowned, her teal eyes narrowing into a confused stare. “What?”

“Just get out here, you troublesome woman, and keep your head down.”


	20. Yesterday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have to talk at some point, but he really doesn't want to.

“You know, I left you that note so that we _didn’t have to talk._ ”

“Well, you fucked that up when you left your smokes, didn’t you?”

He smirked, blowing smoke out of the corner of his mouth, a side eye watching the shop across the road. “You sure he won’t notice you?”

“Of course. I’ve got my back to him, he won’t see.”

“You’re literally just on a bench, Temari—that isn’t a disguise.”

Temari shook her head, staring down at the floor. “Why _are_  you being so weird about him?”

“Because,” he groaned, kicking a stray plastic cup toward the nearest bin, “he found it necessary to come into the shop and grill me about you.”

“Wait, so when you said—”

“About hurting me? Yeah, that was your brother.”

She wanted to scream. “Why does he have to be like this? I can look after myself, Shikamaru.”

His eyes widened, and felt obliged to raise his hands in innocence. “You tell me that as if I don’t know that already.”

The look in her eyes struck Shikamaru to a core he didn’t know he had; so grateful but so terribly sad yet he didn’t know why. Melancholic—that was the word! It was odd how he felt so strange around her, how he’d forget words or phrases for a split second and have to mentally give himself a kick to remember. But right now she made him feel stranger than ever, worried even, because he couldn’t at all pin what it was that she would want to talk to him about. Of course, he knew what they _needed_  to talk about: he desperately needed to apologise for even turning up to the session yesterday, and they really needed to talk about what happened in the toilets.

That didn’t mean he was willing to, however. It didn’t mean he wanted to. As far as he was concerned, he’d rather forget about both of those things and just move along and keep another friend without any hassle, or forget her if he really had to.

But he couldn’t forget her, especially not with the knowledge of her brother across the street breathing down his collar, constantly reminding him of her every time he was on an opening shift. Temari wasn’t the sort of person anyone could forget, and he hated it. How he’d even been able to tell her on Saturday night that he would was a miracle.

Choji was right—he was _clearly_  an excellent liar if she’d believed him.

“I met your friend Choji this morning.”

The segway from his thoughts to the real world made him he jump, and the sudden fear he’d said anything out loud rushed through him. “Oh, yeah?” he managed, taking another drag to ease his nerves.

“Yeah,” she sighed, her fingernails picking at the hem of her cuffs. “You undersold him to me.”

“Did I?” With a smile, Shikamaru offered her the cigarette, but she shook her head, biting down on her lip. “I thought I’d described him pretty well; said he’s like my brother didn’t I?”

Nodding, Temari lamented, “Without all the shit _my_ brother does.”

Sheepishly, he had no idea how he was meant to reply to her—her voice sounded so disheartened. It wasn’t necessarily bad that Kankuro was so in-your-face protective; in fact, it’d be great for her if Shikamaru was actually some kind of threat to her. But Shikamaru knew, with everything in him, that if one of the two of them were to succeed at beating up the other, Temari would beat him _any day_. He just had to look at the determination in her eyes when she was angry to know so.

“He was telling me about your teacher.”

Shikamaru felt his heart drop, and the smile fade from his face instantaneously. “Wow, I didn’t think this would be a session—especially one so lighthearted,” he joked, his tone deep and heavy. “I thought you wanted to talk about…” He shrugged his shoulders, turning away. “Well, I don’t need to tell you what, but about yesterday, _obviously_.”

“Yesterday?”

He didn’t need to confirm, but his silence made her feel stupid.

“Shikamaru, don’t you feel at all awkward? Surely this situation _is_  awkward, isn’t it?”

“I do feel awkward.”

She blushed. “But you’re _not_. You’re so relaxed— _too_  relaxed.”

“Only because I have a cigarette, Temari,” he chuckled, with a laugh so empty of humour it almost stopped him for a moment. “I’ve made a right twat of myself the last few times I’ve seen you, wrecked everything we were doing—right _and_  wrong—and made you feel like shit in the process.” The way his lips pursed around his cigarette when he turned back to her, shrugging, finally expressed his discomfort. “On top of that, if you recall, your brother is after me for reasons unknown. So, you really think I don’t feel even a little bit like running away right now?”

It was rare his voice sounded anything other than bored, and yet now it said all it needed to. So, when she finally caught sight of the distress that flickered in his dark eyes every once in a while, it almost overpowered her. God, how she felt bad now. As always, she just had to go and put her foot in it, didn’t she? Just like he did, and just like her damn brother did. All of them were so guilty of it. Nobody could just keep themselves to themselves for one reason or another, and that was why none of them would ever fit well together. And while Shikamaru gave her this feeling that alluded to something different to the expected clashing, she and Kankuro definitely clashed— _daily_.

She knew deep down that he meant well, and that he probably just wanted her to keep her job. After all it hadn’t even been a whole month yet and she was already jeopardising her situation, and Kankuro knew her too well to know that she was sort of enjoying it. So, unfortunately, she couldn’t really complain about his intent, despite the fact that his methods far exceeded what was necessary.

With a heavy sigh, Temari’s cheeks flushed and she patted the spot on the bench beside her softly. “I’m the one who should be embarrassed, Shikamaru. You were right in your note, by the way—I don’t remember last night _at all_.”

People were starting to begin their daily rounds of the shops, errands and the alike, and being right by the busiest place—bakery—Shikamaru felt himself very in the way. Sadly, he nodded in response to her, pulling another of his famous fake smiles as he fell down into the seat beside her. He didn’t want her to feel bad. She had made him smile a lot last night, after all. “You weren’t _that_  bad.”

“I wasn’t?”

“You were just emotional.”

“I didn’t cry, did I?”

“No.”

“ _Thank God_!”

“But you _did_  follow me into the men’s bathroom and pin me against the wall.”

Temari looked mortified, her eyes widening as she looked at him straight on. For a second she caught his eyes, and saw the smirk creeping onto his face radiate up into them, and she grew too uncomfortable, staring down at the cement. “Oh, God, we didn’t—”

“No. I just took you back to Choji’s and you fell asleep. Nothing else.”

“And you’re sure we didn’t—”

“Hundred percent, Temari.”

She looked grateful, though it was impossible to ignore the embarrassment—and even a hint of sadness—that lingered on her expression. More than he ever thought he would, Shikamaru wanted to tell her that he meant the things that he had said last night, of she did remember them at all. He wanted to tell her, too, what she’d told him so early this morning, when her head was on his chest and his hands were idly fiddling with her hair until she fell asleep.

 _You’re wonderful, too_ , he thought. _But I can’t say that plainly like before._  And he couldn’t—the embarrassment would be too much for her, and so far things were calm enough, with only a little expected awkwardness, that he wondered if maybe he could scrounge one final session off of her.

But he’d only get that if he kept quiet; if he didn’t speak his mind and piss her off again. So his eyes just fell to the concrete, too, examining every crack, weed and dull, downtrodden piece of gum available.

“I do remember apologising to you.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked, her soft voice not being quite enough to lift his eyes. “I believe you were mocking me, actually, calling me all sorts in the process.”

_And telling me you fancied me…_

“I was a mess, Shikamaru. As your therapist, I would like you to—oh…” She stopped herself, perfectly aware of the exchange that had lead to this mess. “I’m _not_  anymore, am I?”

He could say nothing but the truth, his blunt nature kicking in as fog edged across his brain. “I don’t know, Tem.”

“Temari.”

“You drooled on my chest in your sleep. I’m going to call you Tem.”

She started to pout, and the tip of her nose, already red from the cold, darkened. If it weren’t for the weight his entire body felt, he might’ve taken the piss a bit. However, as it stood, looking into her eyes, he was already afraid of where this conversation might lead to.

“I remember most of last night,” he told her, “and I remember almost every word you said to me, Tem, and I can’t forget them.”

“But yesterday you—”

“And last night I felt alive.” He took a drag of his cigarette and tapped the ash into his shoe, watching it blow away the moment it hit the leather. “I felt like my life was _actually_  worth living.”

Temari frowned, her studies taking the floor in her mind. “Didn’t you drink?”

“ _That_ isn’t why. I _hate_  drinking.”

“Then why did you—”

“That doesn’t matter. You make me feel okay, Tem. You know that. And if I have to tell you one thing I told you last night before this cigarette ends and go back into that bloody shop it’s this…”

He paused, afraid to say another word.

Since he’d woken up this morning, he knew that the one job he had today above all else was avoid this situation. In his mind, he had thought up dozens of ways to avoid having to say anything, let alone this to her; some lies, some strange situations. But now the moment to just stand up and walk away had passed, and he had trapped himself—cornered himself with all of his own pieces—and left himself with one option.

He didn’t have to speak. In truth, he could’ve told her to forget about it, but given the sad look in her eyes and the sweet blush that laced her cheeks, he felt evil to not tell her so. He knew what she would say whether he told her the truth or not; she would tell him that they had no place seeing one another anymore, and if he was to never see her again, he was at least being honest.

After he’d done to her, and after all she’d done for him, she deserved nothing less than the whole truth for once.

“Shikamaru?”

With a sigh, his head hung low. “I didn’t cancel my appointment yesterday because I couldn’t not see you again. I went to the pub, I drank— _properly drank_ —for the first time in years because then I thought I’d never see you again. And I’m telling you this now because I have that feeling; I’m never going to see you again.”

He was so nonchalant about it, like the melancholy stare the pavement was receiving hadn’t connected itself to his vocal chords; like they didn’t understand his emotions at all. It was only fitting, given that _he_  couldn’t understand the way he felt either.

When Temari met him, she’d never considered that the man before her now would be so honest with her only a month or so down the line. It felt weird, too, knowing that a month was all it had been. While it felt like she’d known him a day or two, the many facts she’d discovered about him amounted to years, and unlike other patients, she felt those years had truly happened while she’d known him.

Shikamaru was a good liar, she knew that—Choji had very much clarified it this same morning—so why had he changed so? After their second session it was as if something had snapped, or a nerve in his brain had twisted, and he didn’t see the point in lying anymore. And, to some extent, given how desperate Temari was to rest her head on his shoulder and warm that cold, disheartened expression, just from hearing his honesty, she almost wished he’d kept lying this whole time.

“You thought I would stop seeing you if you cancelled your appointment?” she asked, forcing herself out of her own thoughts, and shuffling slightly away from him.

He nodded, eyebrows raised. “Temari, it was wrong that I _didn’t_  cancel it. You were only trying to help me.”

 _Typical_ , she noted, _that you get all righteous and sensible once you’ve already done the damage._

“I was, but I wanted you to cancel it so that I could see you again.”

When he looked up at her, Shikamaru’s frown cut so deeply it almost covered his narrow eyes. Why was he frozen in place and not running? Why was he intent on listening to this, somewhat torturing himself, instead of tuning out like he always did to people? Why did Temari get his undivided attention like this, even when he didn’t want to give it to her?

He assumed it was because she looked so upset, and he knew that when you’re upset all you want is to be heard. Then again, she looked so full of resignation as the words spilled from her mouth, as if that was the last thing in the world that she wanted to admit.

“I wanted to know that my existence as your therapist wasn’t the thing keeping you attatched to me,” she said sadly. “But you proved to me there and then that that wasn’t so. And it broke me.”

“You’re such a pain. That’s exactly why _I_ —”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Temari fiddles with her fingernails on the hem of her pockets, biting her lip. She couldn’t listen to him say the same thing, or else she’d probably never be able to walk away from this bench—at least not without giving him a massive hug. She didn’t want to do that, and she wasn’t sure he’d want that either. Nervously, she drew the sticky note that he’d left her back at Choji’s from her pocket, fiddling with the corners and repeatedly pressing her fingers on the tacky bit on the back, as if it would still stick. Of course, it didn’t: there was too much lint.

 _Now_  he wanted to leave, and he wondered if now was the time to do so, but he just couldn’t read her right. Her eyes were fixated on that stupid note he’d left—a stupid note that probably would’ve solved everything and avoided this if it weren’t for his own forgetfulness—but he had to wonder why she was. It wasn’t what he’d written, was it? It didn’t mean anything except what was explicitly said: he was gone and the sofa was Choji’s. He wanted to avoid embarrassment, but sitting next to her as she read it made it harder to avoid ripping the damn thing.

“You know there’s a difference, don’t you?”

“Between what?” He sighed, surprised she wasn’t finished lecturing him, and dropped his dying cigarette to the floor. But before he could stamp it out her boot squished it, twisting to finish the job.

“Feeling okay and _being_  okay.”

“What?”

“I might make you _feel_  okay, but that doesn’t mean you’re any better. It doesn’t mean that I really help.”

His eyes rolled. “Temari…”

“You’ve made it very clear yourself that you need to get better, that’s your priority.”

People were walking past, more and more each second, and she was acutely aware of this becoming a scene; something people didn’t need to see, that she didn’t _want_  anyone to see. She tucked the post it back in her pocket carefully.

From beside her, a little, bitter laugh sounded, causing her to look up.

“You don’t get it, do you?”

“Shikamaru, please.”

“Tem, I don’t care if I have to pay you to text you, 'cause I genuinely reckon that if I speak to you about my problems, professionally or not, I’m going to get better.”

“Shikamaru—”

“You don’t have to tell me: I know it’s wrong, _unethical_ , but fuck that at this point.”

He started to laugh a little more but with less hostility, hoisting himself to his feet and shoving one hand in his pocket. As the other made it’s way to the back of his neck, his cover was blown. Whatever he was about to say clearly put him on edge.

“Temari, last night you told me I was wonderful.”

“I was drunk, Shikamaru. We both were…”

“Dozens of times in my life people have told me shit like that; my parents, Choji, Ino, _Asuma_ …” He shook his head, pulling at the stray hairs at the back of his head. “But you’re the first person who I actually felt meant it.”

She had no words, so with a gulp he kept going.

“You have no obligation to me. Sure, you might fancy me, or maybe that’s only when you’re hammered, I don’t know.” If he kept shrugging she was going to pin his shoulders down at normal height in a minute. “But you told me I was wonderful and for a moment I felt it. I felt like I had my place in the world and it was clear.”

“It isn’t with me, Shikamaru,” lamented Temari. “You know that.”

“I don’t care if it isn’t. But please, woman,” he chuckled, his lip tightly between his teeth. “All I ask is that, in some capacity, you stay in my life. Because I can feel myself actually becoming okay, around all of the troublesome drama we’ve stirred up.”

When his hand fell into his pockets and his eyebrows raised, his sentiment was clear: this was begging to him. It didn’t surprise her at all, either. Temari had never seen him to be the sort that would beg, and it only made sense that when he did it felt like nothing but a steady stream of obvious facts. He made no compelling points, and there wasn’t nearly as much of a puppy-dog-eye than Kankuro would give when he used to beg Baki for pizza on Friday nights, and she certainly wasn’t convinced that agreeing would do him any good whatsoever.

But still, she found her mouth forming the same old words. “Fine, but it won’t help you, Shikamaru.”

When his shoulders visibly loosened Temari wanted to pat herself on the back and slap herself simultaneously.

“Then again,” she added, rubbing her hands together for warmth, “I think it’s important you understand that me giving you advice isn’t really an option anymore.”

His frown came back. “What? Well, that’s pointless then. What am I supposed to do? Just talk?”

“That’s what you were basically doing anyway, dumbass.”

“I can ‘just talk’ to anybody,” he muttered. “What’s the point when I have your number?”

“Okay then, just use that,” Temari spat back. “But don’t get argumentative when you basically just begged me to stay in your life.”

The laugh the followed was horrible. It made her want to cry, and he regretted it the moment he saw the glaze that flashed across her eyes. “Begged is a strong word, Temari,” he added, a little softer, but still too hard to stop her eyes reddening.

“Fine then.” She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes, giving him a sickeningly sarcastic smile. “Just ignore my attempts to help you completely then. I’ll be on the end of the phone until you find yourself a new therapist.”

Shikamaru stepped toward her, gritting his teeth. “Tem, I don’t want a new—”

“Well tough! It’s not all about what you want, Shikamaru—it’s about what you need!” she spat, shaking inside of her thick coat. Her eyes rolled and she stared back at the floor. “God, you’re such a _baby_  sometimes.”

“I just shouldn’t call you, should I?”

Temari shrugged, refusing to meet his eyes again despite his presence looming closer to her by the second. He couldn’t be allowed to see the tears that traced her waterline.

“Come on, woman.”

“We’re in public—don’t be an asshole.”

“Then answer my question: you don’t think it’s going to help me as much as if I got a new therapist, do you?”

“You already know what I think, Shikamaru. I told you yesterday that I…”

Her eyes raised to see him, not nearly as harsh and intimidating as his voice had lead on, chewing on his lip to avoid letting the water in his eyes let loose. He nodded, waiting for her to continue, and she was mesmerised by the ridiculousness of the situation. Had he been holding back those tears for this whole conversation? Surely not.

Slowly she took a deep breath and wiped her eyes with the back of her index finger, “I definitely think you should find someone else. I’m too involved with you now on a personal level, Shikamaru. And while I definitely don’t hate that, it definitely impedes our progress in helping you.”

For a moment they stayed there, perfectly silent, and enveloped in each other’s eyes. Between them she could suddenly feel a shift, and while she’d only known him this past month, she felt like she’d fought with the oldest of friends.

Did he not get that she was trying to help him? Could he not say _anything_  at all in response to her kind words, especially after she’d had the decency to reply to his, however awkward she felt. And why wouldn’t he look away from her, as if to rub salt into the wound. It made her feel like _she_  was at fault when all she'd done was try to help him. Would an apology fix this? Or something stronger—a joke or scathing remark like he’d give her, maybe.

Just the wrong moment, when she felt like something was finally starting to come to her, a car pulled up to the kerb just beside the bench, and a woman flew from the door and over through the entrance to the flower-shop. Immediately the man before her stepped back, turning away from her.

“That’s my cue to leave you alone,” sighed Shikamaru. “Ino will kill me if she has to move all those flowers on her own.”

Temari leaned forward in her seat, staring at his back. “One more thing, just in case I don’t see you again.”

“Mhmm?”

He didn’t bother to turn around, and it made her chest cramp.

“I might’ve been drunk, but I meant it: you _are_  wonderful.”

Shikamaru chuckled, shaking his head as his shoulders bounced up and down. “Okay.”

“You are, even if just for taking care of me.”

“Well, cheers.” His head turned and he nodded a little. “If you need flowers, don’t come here. Your brother will kill me.”

“Call if you need me, Shikamaru.”

“Uh-huh.”

And like that he had disappeared the through the door, and with the heaviest of consciences, Temari began to trudge back home. In her pocket, her fingertips found the sticky note, and while she longed to tear it up and throw it in the bin, instead she found herself balling a fist around it, unable to let go.


	21. Idiots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Separately the two are urged to be honest with themselves.

He unloaded the last bouquet into the back of the car and grimaced in the direction of the lady who’d forced him to do such work as she chatted pleasantly to Ino. Calmly he wiped his hands down his apron and started to walk back inside, hoping to avoid being part of this conversation. He’d had a bad enough morning as it was, and it was barely eight-forty-five. As his shoulder bashed the door, driving the bell to ring violently again, Shikamaru let out a huge sigh, rubbing his eyes. He just wanted to go home now, but apparently their customer was having none of that.

“Excuse me!”

At the sound of the lady’s voice, Shikamaru turned slowly, forcing a toothless grin as he leant sluggishly against the shop’s door. “What do you need _now_ , madam?”

Apparently unaware of the invalidity of his kind response, she stepped towards him, rooting around inside of her purse. With a huge grin, she pulled out a ten pouch note and thrust it into his hands, to which Shikamaru could do nothing but frown in confusion. “Um, I shouldn’t—”

“Without you my daughter’s wedding would have no flowers. It’s the least I can do to thank you.”

He avoided the glare Ino was giving her over the woman’s shoulder and softened his smile into something a little more real, nodding in understanding. “Right, cheers. Good luck to your daughter today.”

“He _means_ ,” Ino added furiously, in front of him to give the woman a big cheesy grin herself, “he hopes she has the best day. And you, too!”

Looking ecstatic, the lady thanked them once more and scurried back to her car before hurrying off down the road. Shikamaru stared at the money in his hand and raised his eyebrows before stuffing it into his jeans, turning on his heel and shuffling back into the shop. It was cold—you wouldn’t catch him out there again if he could help it.

“You better give me half of that, Shikamaru,” hissed Ino, slamming the door behind her. She followed him closely, stepping on his heels, and he had to work hard not to trip up each time her toes pinned down his boots for a moment. “I put together most of the bouquets!”

“She gave _me_  a tip, not you,” he chuckled, raising his eyebrows at her before making his way up the stairs. “So no.”

“We’re florists—we aren’t even meant to get tips.”

“You weren’t lifting anything, were you?” Ino pouted, staring at him in angry silence as he waited for her response. “So, no,” he added bluntly, “it’s mine.”

Taking his time, he climbed the rest of the stairs, feeling his muscles tire a little more every second at the tedious activity. A back-room, he had always thought, would be far more practical. One floor meant less stairs—the exact reason why he aspired to live in a bungalow in later life.

When he reached the coats that hung against the wall at the top of the stairs, he fished out the money from his pocket and placed it into the inside pocket of his own jacket. _That’ll at least get me small pack of straights when I run out,_  he thought, and sat back in the chair he’d sat in earlier. His dirty coffee cup still donned the table in front of him, and his messy handwriting scrawled across the clipboard, still.

For a moment, all was peaceful, and Shikamaru tried to let his mind wander. He questioned why it was that he had been such a coward today—why he’d not been stronger to Kankuro and why he hadn’t been honest with Temari. Calling her was all he could think about doing right now, and the feeling of his was burning a hole in his apron, but it was exactly what he’d committed to him not doing. She didn’t want him to, did she? So he couldn’t. If he followed the line of least resistance, life would surely just get easier, remain peaceful…

But nothing was ever peaceful while Ino, who had suddenly appeared at the top of the staircase, was breathing down your neck.

“We’re still open, Shikamaru,” she huffed. “Just because you’re tired and moody doesn’t mean you get to be a _snappy asshole_.”

He couldn’t stop himself complaining. “Oh, shut up…”

“What is _wrong_  with you?”

“Just chill out, Ino,” he sighed. “I’m just having a sit down; the world isn’t ending.”

“You’re a twenty-three year old man—mind of an old git or not. _You don’t need to have a sit down_.”

Quietly, he let his eyes flicker shut and embraced the moment of silence—silence, except Ino’s heavy, _bothersome_  breathing. He could feel his mind falling into patterns, and the colours behind his eyelids dancing in the dark; yellows and purples filling his vision, twisting into shapes and patterns that resembled a person. It didn’t take a second to clock who. For a short time he was glad for his brain giving in to his subconscious, until he began to feel it swallowing him whole, engulfing him in the falseness of his fantasy. His eyes flickered open, frightened of the reality he’d created for himself; one where poor phrasing and handling of just one situation could change everything.

In that moment purple and yellow were ruined.

“Ino,” uttered Shikamaru, spinning the chair to look at her. “You’re a girl.”

“What a genius _you_  are…”

He almost laughed, but steadied himself, “Really, though. If I called a girl wonderful is that a compliment?”

Ino frowned, her mouth agape. “Wow, are you serious?”

“What?”

“Do you actually have to ask that?”

“Don’t push me,” he warned, turning away again and focussing on the cacti pictures on the wall. “I’m involving you, like you begged me to the other day, so—”

“Oh my god!” She squealed, bouncing on the spot slightly. In a flash she dashed closer to him and spun his chair around so he could do nothing but look her in the eye. “I was right, wasn’t I? That _was_  her. Your girlfriend.”

His eyes rolled and Shikamaru did everything to avoid looking in her direction. “She’s not my girlfriend, Ino. Now can you please let go of the chair so I can go and have a ciga—”

“No, I won’t.” Her long blonde fringe slung menacingly across her expression, she scowled at him, an excited glint undeniably hiding in her eye. “First you’re explaining to me why you’re acting so weird over a _girl_.”

* * *

She hoped that he’d be out. She hoped that when she shuffled into their kitchen, a mess of sheepish smiles, fought back tears and windswept hair, he wouldn’t be waiting for her. Anything—even just being asleep in his room—was better than sitting watching the TV, his head turned staring at her as her shoes clicked against the tiles.

But that was obviously exactly what he was doing.

“Why aren’t you in class?” Temari quizzed, desperate to get the first word in. It was vital he remembered that she was the older sibling; the alpha, if you will.

Gaara shrugged. “Cancelled.” She barely took a step towards him before a began to smile, sighing as he swung his legs off of the couch to make room for her. “He took you home, huh?”

Temari halted on her way closer to him. “Excuse me?”

“Your patient with the anti-gravity hair.”

“What are you insinuating, Gaara?”

“I watch people lie everyday, Temari,” he said softly. “I can tell when a text is from my sister or not.”

“How?”

His smile widened as his hand raked through his messy, red hair, expecting her to flop down beside him as he tapped the seat. “Firstly you left half a pitcher of cocktails on the table, and you never waste your drinks.”

She started to blush, dropping her bag on the floor.

“Secondly, you could barely grip your phone to check the time before you went to the bathroom.”

“But how do you know I didn’t go in there, sober up a bit and see sense?” she argued, slipping off her coat and throwing it down on her bag.

“Because I watched you follow that man into the men’s, Temari.”

Feeling that sickly churning of embarrassment starting to arise, the blonde fell down on the sofa next to her brother and bit hard on her lip, whining. “This detail isn’t nearly as striking to people as it ought to be! Why is nobody amazed that I did that?”

Gaara chuckled and carefully put his arm around her shoulders. “You’re direct. That’s why.”

If she was so direct that she could walk into a men’s bathroom and confront Shikamaru about god knows what, why couldn’t she just be direct about what she wanted from him. If she was so direct that her brother wasn’t surprised, and that she could do things that would’ve driven most people up the wall, why didn’t Shikamaru understand what she meant when she told him that she thought he was great—that she wasn’t just being polite. Because she definitely meant it.

Her mind began to run in circles, around and around the dark-haired idiot that haunted her every move, and with that she knew the only thing she could hope for from Gaara now was patience. Understanding would be too farfetched to hope for, but she knew if she just told the truth he’d at least have a little more respect for her.

“I didn’t sleep with him. I know it doesn’t make it better, but I promise I didn’t.”

“Temari,” said Gaara, “do you know what you want yet?”

The calmness of his response stunned her, and Temari turned to Gaara again full of nothing short of amazement. “What? You’re not pissed at me.”

“Of course I’m not,” he chuckled, pulling her closer to him and pressing a kiss on her temple. “I’m trying to be kind again; be the cool brother.”

Temari felt her whole body fall to tense and turn cold. “Oh, fuck being the cool brother, Gaara! Tell me I’m an idiot—you’re _meant_  to tell me I’m an idiot.”

“You know I’m not going to do that.”

“Why?”

“Because you need to decide what you want for yourself.” Her brother squeezed her in a hug before relaxing back to look into her sad eyes, full of confusion. “Nothing Kankuro and I say or do has ever stopped you doing what you want anyway. Exhibit ‘a’ being becoming a psychiatrist.”

“And within my first month totally ruining a patient’s life!”

“But how do you know that you’ve done that? Did he tell you?”

Bitter and struggling to fight her brother’s sensibility, Temari bit down on her lip and looked away. “As good as…”

“I need you to be really honest with me; no more lies or underselling things.”

Gaara got to his feet, turning the TV off and slowly pacing in front of her, hands neatly behind his back. Temari couldn’t help fidgeting, curling her knees to her chest and holding back the feeling of sheer bewilderment that Gaara was acting this way.

“Tell me,” he said gently, “ _exactly_  how you feel about him.”

* * *

“I’m not acting weird.”

Ino raised her eyebrows at him. “You forgot to bring in your cigarettes this morning and some girl brought them in? That isn’t normal you. Choji was right.”

“Stop…”

“Did you fight?”

“She _isn’t_  my girlfriend, Ino.”

“But you were with her last night weren’t you?”

“ _Ino_ …”

“You slept with her, didn’t you?” Her face was a perfect mixture of surprise and disgust. “Oh my god! You dark horse!”

“Oh, come on! I _didn’t_  sleep with her and she’s not my girlfriend,” he groaned, falling back into the chair. “She was my _therapist_ , alright? Happy now?”

“I mean, not really. You don’t have to be so angry about it.”

“You’re impossible.”

“So why did she have your _cigarettes_?”

Fortunately he could think fast. “I left them at her office yesterday.”

And even more fortunately, Ino bought it. “Then why you were outside talking? You guys didn’t look happy out there?”

“What?”

Ino pointed to the window, eyebrows raised. “You think I _wasn’t_ going to watch you?”

“I repeat: you’re impossible.” He faced the desk, away from her, and rested his elbows on the table, his fingertips all touching.

“You’re avoiding all of my questions, Shikamaru.”

He preceded to do exactly that, forcing himself up and shuffling over to the window. Outside it was starting to rain, and he glanced over to what the carpenter’s was doing: empty, of course, but Shikamaru almost smiled. The rain clung to the window as desperately, but each droplet fell far sooner than expected; tiny, cold bullets. He almost wanted to step outside and let them hit his face. Maybe they’d wake him up, acclimatise him to his reality, or set his facts straight.

“Wait..was?” Ino asked after a while, staring past him out the window.

“Huh?”

“Past tense. What changed?”

Shikamaru sighed, rubbing his eyes. “It’s busy out.” It wasn’t. “One of us should be on shop floor.”

“Stop avoiding my questions.”

“They don’t matter, Ino.”

“I thought she was helping you—you said she was good.”

“And she was, but now I’ve got to find someone else.”

“Why?”

He sat silently.

“ _Why_ , Shikamaru?”

“Because I made it weird, alright?” he finally spat, his frustrating fuelling the sharpness of his tone. “I asked her out last week and it’s all gone to shit.”

“So you mean…”

“Yeah, that girl Choj was on about was her.”

“No, I mean you dated your therapist?” Her eyes narrowed and features bunched up. “Shikamaru, that’s _so wrong_!”

“You don’t have to tell me! What do you think _every_  conversation I’ve had with her since then has been about, Ino?”

Ino looked sheepish. “To be honest, I’m still amazed you asked someone out—therapist or not.”

“Shut up.”

“Didn’t you have a session only yesterday? That’s why you couldn’t stay and close up, right?”

He nodded, eyes squeezed shut. “But by then shouldn’t you have—”

“Yes, I should’ve stopped seeing her. I know.”

“So why the hell did you meet her last night?”

“I didn’t mean to.” He slowly put his palms together and his fingertips to his lips. “I just went to the pub to see Choji and have a drink, and she was there—”

“You had a drink?” He knew the look she’d be giving him right now if he were to open his eyes, appalled and angry, so he simply didn’t look and instead felt her gaze burrow into him. “A drink, or a _drink_?”

Shikamaru sighed. “Ino…”

“Oh, God— _why_ , Shikamaru? You’ve not drunk in years!”

“Because I felt like such a screw up, Ino; such a failure, and such a damn coward.” His breath hitched in his throat and he forced his eyes open, hoping that would stop the prickling he felt in them. “And before you say it: it wasn’t her fault, it was mine. I was just…it doesn’t matter. I just haven’t done anything in years that has made me feel so useless.”

Ino frowned, putting her hand on his shoulder. She waited for him to shrug it off but instead he remained still, staring at his feet. “You have some serious feelings for her, don’t you?”

He stayed quiet. This wasn’t a hole he could let himself fall down.

“You do. But she was your therapist they’re not _real_  feelings. Not _love_  feelings.”

“Of course I don’t love her—I’ve not even known her for a month.”

“So you know that they’re not right.”

“How do you know that?” he chuckled. “I know how I’m meant to feel; I’m meant to feel like I can just disconnect, but I don’t feel like that at all. I’ve had a therapist that I long to keep because he was so helpful, and he understood me, and I wanted his friendship because of that.”

“And that didn’t work out, did it?”

“But it isn’t the same with Temari! I want to know her because _I_  understand _her_. I want to waste my time drinking coffee and sitting in parks and watching her eat chips.  want to listen to her chat shit about nothing in particular, or tell me more about her life and her family. Granted I probably won’t concentrate on all of it, but the sound of her voice in the background will be enough, Ino. Don’t you get that? It’s different.”

“What you want is to get better, Shikamaru. It always has been.”

“No,” he laughed. “You know what? I couldn’t care less if I get better or not, as long as I get to see Temari. I don’t care.”

“You _should_  care.”

“Well, I don’t. I just care about her.”

Reluctantly the corners of Ino’s mouth were tugged up into a smile, and it was terribly unnerving.

“Why are you doing that?”

“What? Smiling?” she giggled softly. “Because I never thought _you_  would ever say something like that.”

Shikamaru frowned, slumping against the wall. “You know, me neither…”

* * *

Temari’s eyes widened and she shook her head, staring hopelessly int her brother’s eyes. “You can’t be serious.”

“Of course I’m serious. I want to know what you feel.”

“I mean you can’t be serious that you have absolutely no thoughts of your own on this.”

“I admit you’ve made a mess of it—both of you, it seems—but it’s what you do next that matters.”

“What the hell do you mean?”

“Stop snapping at me, Temari.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Gaara. I’m the eldest.” Her sour expression slowly reformed, imposing innocence and genuine worry once more. “Actually, I take that back: tell me _exactly_  what to do now, laywer-man.”

“I was going to say,” he chuckled. “ _That_  seemed a bit childish for you, I must say.”

She stuck her tongue out and he smiled.

“I know that you like him, Temari. I can tell that you like him a lot.”

“But I shouldn’t,” she lamented.

“Which is beyond the point. I know he’s your patient, and it’s unethical but your—”

“He’s not,” she interrupted, chewing on her thumb nail. “He isn’t anymore.”

Gaara stared at her for a moment and her brain rushed around, busy with every thought at once. It didn’t occur to her for a second what he might do next, or why he eased backwards to turn off the TV. She shuffled over, making more room for him to sit.

But he didn’t sit.

She pushed her hair from her eyes and continued to chew her nails, until with an authoritative stare Gaara stopped her, clicking his fingers to grab her attention—as if it had ever been _off_  him in the first place. “Give me your phone, please.”

“What? It’s in my bag.” She frowned, her eyes following him as he walked toward said bag and lifted it. “Why do you need it? Where’s yours?”

He unzipped her bag and held it up, looking at her expectantly. “May I?”

“Um, sure. Just explain, maybe?”

“I’ll explain in a minute,” he said, gripping her phone and poking the screen. “Password?”

“One, five, one, nine— _why_ , Gaara?”

“Thank you,” was all he said before tapping it a few more times and then licking his lips.

Temari’s heart dropped as she heard it begin to ring.

* * *

Shikamaru’s jumped when his phone started to buzz in the pocket of his apron and he whipped it out, not expecting his stomach to flip upon reading the name.

“Who is it?” Ino asked eagerly, staring up at him. “Is it her?”

He shook his head and letting his hand fall, the vibrations sending shivers through his body. “Just let it ring out.”

“Shikamaru, is it her?”

“I’m not telling you who it is. You’ll get all annoying about it.”

“I am not annoying,” she snapped, grabbing the phone out of his hand. “I’m going to answer.”

“No you’re fucking not,” laughed Shikamaru, reaching out to take it, but Ino jumped back, avoiding his hand.

She poised herself to press the big green button, smiling nervously, and motioned for Shikamaru to sit down. He fell into the chair, swivelling with his head in his hands, listening intently as she answered.

“Hello?”

* * *

“Hello,” he replied, Temari’s heart pounding out of her chest as she listened to the calm voice of the man before you.

“You’re not Temari!” A girls voice echoed down the phone. “Wait, are you—”

“You’re definitely not Shikamaru either,” chuckled Gaara.  It was Ino’s voice—the blonde girl she’d seen that morning. Just from her tone, Temari could tell. Shikamaru had described her well. “Can I speak to him please?”

“Who are _you_? Please just pass her over—oi, _dumb-ass_  don’t give me that look!”

Temari stifled a laugh, knowing the exact condescending expression that she was receiving from him at that moment. He was there and, like her, he was listening in. That thought was both terrifying and insanely exciting.

“So you’re _what_?” repeated Ino. “Her boyfriend?” Down the line she heard the faint echo of a deep voice mutter something, but only her voice came through properly. “No, Shikamaru. You don’t _know_  that. She could’ve and you just didn’t know.”

“I’m her _brother_ ,” Gaara told her calmly, looking Temari dead in the eye as he did so.

“Well, you’re not, because her brother came in and tormented my friend this morning and I can see his dumb face across the street hitting something with a hammer.”

“That’s _our_ brother, miss.” How he didn’t lose it with her Temari couldn’t grasp. She wasn’t sure she had the patience for this. “She has _more than one_ brother, me being one of them. And who are you?”

The voice went silent at the end of the line, but a deep mumble echoed through until she said, “I’m his friend.”

Temari hit the sofa quickly, over and over, to get his attention until the redhead turned around. “Ino,” she whispered. “Her name is Ino, I think.”

Gaara nodded, mouthing a thank you in recognition. “May I ask why you’ve answered his phone when I can hear him in the background?”

“Probably the same reason _you_  called and not _her_ ,” Ino laughed. “Because the idiot in front of me thought it was too stupid an idea.”

“It was a stupid idea, Ino. Just freaking—uh, just gimme that!” The voice had changed, and tingles fell down Temari’s spine at the sound of it. “Hi, um, Gaara was it?”

Gaara hummed in response, looking at Temari wide-eyed as if she could somehow explain the chaos on the other end of the phone. However his sister just sat there, so struck by confusion and shock that she could barely move. Her mouth hung open, amazed, and yet her eyes looked bright—excited, even—at the sound of this new voice.

“Yeah, hi,” the man on the end of the line continued. “This is Shikamaru Nara. We spoke before. Is she there? Temari, I mean.”

“We did, yes. And I wanted to talk to you, not—”

“I know,” he interrupted, “but now I’m staring at the phone I think I may as well talk to her, as bothersome as it is.”

“She is here, but she really did not want me to ring you up.”

“I’m not surprised.” The chuckle that resonated through her phone shook her when it reached her ears, and she found herself giggling quietly.

“But,” added Gaara, “she’ll listen to you if you have something to say.”

There was silence down the phone for a while, bar the angry hissing of the higher pitched voice every now and again because he was so quiet. Gaara smiled at his sister, his expression one of what seemed like pity, but she knew he was smug on the inside, and he had every right to be. If her brother hadn’t had the nerve to call him, she might’ve never spoken to Shikamaru or heard his deep voice again. So instead of throwing a pillow at him—which she had been greatly debating for the last few minutes—she simply smiled back, her chin resting on the back of the sofa.

But she’d sat hyping up the moment he Shikamaru would speak so much in her mind that when eventually he cleared his throat and started to mumble something incoherent, seemingly to Ino, her body went to jelly. Thank _God_  she was sat down…

“I’m an idiot,” he started, his usual monotone voice heavy with regret. “I don’t know how many times you’ve given me a chance to say fuck it and I haven’t taken it. And even though you’re ‘Miss It’s-Against-The-Rules’, you’ve egged me on to break so many and take so many chances without even knowing it.”

He sighed, and Temari watched as Gaara rolled his eyes. _That’s_  when the pillow next to her started flying through the air, colliding with her brother’s chin. She paused, proud of her aim, but unsure how exactly this was meant to be positive. He was admitting things he’d done wrong, but she’d done things too. She’d made everything all the more confusing, hadn’t she?

Or was this, this acknowledgement of her making him take chances, him understanding what she meant.

That wasn’t something she had time to consider in the time it took for him to keep talking. “I said I wouldn’t call because I shouldn’t. That didn’t mean I didn’t want to,” he mumbled. “And I don’t know about you but I want to talk to you _a lot_. I’ve told you this—with you I’m okay, whether you like it or not. So hear me, and listen to me.” He cleared his throat. “I want you to help me. By being my pal, not my therapist.”

Girly laughter swiftly followed on the other end. “ _Pal_? Your _pal_ , Shikamaru?”

“Shut up, Ino,” he grumbled, clearly still nervous.

Temari, her mouth agape, stared at Gaara as he smiled, trying not to chuckle. The giggles on the end of the phone from Ino weren’t helping her to keep a level head, but with everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours and the uncharacteristically encouraging grin on Gaara’s lips she couldn’t help jumping over the back of the sofa and carefully taking her phone from Gaara’s hands.

“You’re a pain and I seriously hate how much I think about you.”

She grinned. It was that comment that pushed the words out. “Shikamaru,” she mumbled, getting out the name as it hitched in her throat, “can you hear me?”

There was silence for a moment, and then suddenly a cheerful, “Yeah.”

Her heart leaped. “So, tonight…are you busy?”

“Nope,” he chuckled. “Do you fancy fish and chips or something?”

Temari’s entire body flushed hot and she bounced up and down, smiling at Gaara who nodded slightly. “Shikamaru,” she grinned, “you absolutely read my mind.”


	22. Fish and Chips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very uncharacteristically nervous Shikamaru tries his best to conquer his first proper date.

“ _Knock knock_!”

Shikamaru turned around, scowling at his best friend as he unbuttoned his uniform and threw it to the floor. “Oh God, what’re _you_  doing here?”

“Ino sent me,” Chōji grinned, shutting the door behind him and flopping down on the bed.

“Of course she did.”

Chōji pulled a bag og crisps from his jacket pocket and, making a racket, tore them open. “She said you’ve got a date and I’ve got to make sure you aren’t late.”

He started staring into the abyss of black and khaki that was his wardrobe, rooting around something and shaking his head. “Right, well thanks, but I’ve got it covered.”

“Is it her?” he pestered, crunching. “Did you guys sort everything out when she dropped off your stuff?”

Shikamaru smiled to himself, tilting his head as he focussed on what amongst the clutter was clean. “Something like that.”

Everything in his bedroom was guaranteed to be put away, but no drawer of cupboard was guaranteed to be tidy. With a mother like Yoshino Nara, he knew she’d have his head if he left things lying around but, other than for times like this, he couldn’t see why it was worth it to neatly organise everything. If he didn’t trip up on it surely that was better than nothing, right?

Admittedly, however, it really wasn’t top helpful for this situation, and he round himself reaching his arm into the pile on the shelf, underneath the empty hangers, and pulling out the first item of clothing that came out. Out came a black t-shirt and he threw it on automatically, shutting the wardrobe and rubbing his face. “Will this do?” he groaned.

Chōji screwed up his nose a little, though mouthfuls telling him, “It’s a bit creased, mate.”

“We’re going for fish and chips, man, not to the Ritz,” chuckled Shikamaru, turning back around to grab his cologne. “Besides, there is ice outside. Don’t think I’m going to be needing to take off my coat.”

“Fish and chips?”

He turned back to Chōji, whose expression had transformed with what seemed to be joy, and Shikamaru’s eyebrows raised mockingly. “ _Yes_ , Chōji. Fish and chips.”

“Which one?”

“I don’t know,” he laughed. “Does it matter? The one near the pub—the one near yours, probably.”

“Do you want it?” his friend smirked.

“Want what?”

Chōji waggled his eyebrows cheekily and immediately the taller man halted her efforts in getting ready to give him a blank stare; one so full of disappointment he barely needed to say a word.

“The flat? Chōji, come on, man…”

“Well you might want to…I don’t know.” He winked and Shikamaru crossed his arms. “Can’t come here cause of your mum, and you can’t go to hers because her scary ass brother who Ino said went for you today.”

“He didn’t ' _go for me'_ ,” he retorted. “Just came in and told me not to go near her again.”

“Sweet,” he winced as Shikamaru forced a smile at him.

“Yeah, I’m pretty fucked if he finds out about this.”

“Nah, man. He wouldn’t attack his sister’s bloke.”

Shikamaru rubbed the back of his neck, turning back to his shelf and retying his ponytail. “Pretty sure he would, but I’ll pretend to believe you.”

“So, do you want the key or not?”

He was glad he was facing the opposite way so his best friend couldn’t see the awfully red blush that had covered his cheeks.

“You’re having the key.”

He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. “Chōji…”

“Oh, and change your jeans, man—there’s soil on your knee.”

* * *

Shikamaru fiddled with the keys in his pocket, his usual poker face tainted with hints of nervousness across his expression. They’d agreed seven-thirty, it was currently seven-fifteen, and he had to admit he was surprised to not see her. He had to get there first for once, especially now he knew that they both thought this was a date.

Dates really were something he’d never done. People had come up to him in bars and he’d just let them drag him home every once in a while, but dates…they terrified him. His first date of sitting in a booth over coffee had somehow gone wrong on Saturday, and so it wasn’t totally unexpected that his knees began to shake as he slowly made his way to the shop. It was, ain all honestly, a goldfish bowl in itself; the entire front panelled with glass and plastered with lists of fish and opening times. The closer he got the more blinding the light was, and he considered stepping inside. It would be warmer inside, after all.

Then again, if he walked in surely he had to buy something, and that way he may as well buy the both of them dinner. _Oh God,_  he thought, _what if_ she’s _late and then they’ll be cold when she gets here._

Temari was definitely right; he cared to much about how he affected other people’s lives. And sometimes, he noted, he ought to just hope it’ll all be okay.

He fiddled with the key in his pocket and fished out a ten pound note, pushing through the door. “Hi,” he said, raising his hand as he walked in. “One large chips please, man.” When the server handed him his change he smiled gratefully and leant against the window, hoping she’d turn the corner any second. By the time the man at the counter called out his order and he took it, immediately shoving a chip into his mouth to hide the nerves it was half past.

And she wasn’t here.

 _Maybe I should’ve worn a smarter shirt,_  he worried, staring into the mountain of chips in the bag. _Or maybe asked her someone proper. A_ proper _restaurant._

He _really, undeniably_  had no idea how to do this.

“Hi.”

Shikamaru spun around holding back a sigh of relief. “Hi.” He held out the bag of chips, smiling awkwardly and waited for her to take one. His smiled turned real when she took a handful.

“Thank you,” said Temari. “I hope you didn’t get here too early.”

“I did, but thats my fault,” he chuckled. “You know, didn’t have to agree to this, you know?”

“What, coming out with you?”

“No,” he sighed, suddenly feeling too nervously full to eat another bite. “Fish and Chips. It’s not exactly romantic.”

She blushed furiously.

“What?”

“Well,” she said nervously “I didn’t really expect _you_  to think about that.”

Shikamaru bit his lip, rubbing the back of his neck. “We could’ve gone and sat down somewhere, but I thought—huh?”

He faltered as her hand delicately took his away from behind his neck and pulled it down between them. Encouragingly, she gave it a squeeze to accompany the glowing smile on her face.

“Don’t be nervous,” she muttered softly, her red cheeks still flushing. “It’s perfect; don’t worry.”

Shikamaru smiled back, his own cheeks turning red. “Wow, you’re easy to please.”

Temari frowned. “And what _exactly_  do you mean by that?” His eyes widened and he opened his mouth, unable to find any words to explain himself under her gaze. Adoring this awkward teen version of the man she knew so differently, and rying to hold back a giggle, Temari grabbed a chip from his bag and ate it. “Come on then. Where to next, casanova?”

He froze. “Huh?”

“Oh my god, you really are an idiot. _Tell_  me you have _some_  kind of plan.”

Fortunately he could see the smile on her face and he started to smirk, only moderately afraid of how she would respond. “I, er, have a key.”

“A _key_?” She didn’t seem convinced. “To where exactly?”

“Now I’ve mentioned it, I don’t know if I want to tell you.”

She crossed her arms and cocked her head to one side. “Shikamaru…”

“Would you believe me if I told you it was a _metaphorical_  key to the town?”

“Shikamaru.”

“Alright, fine,” he relented. “Chōji gave me the key to his flat.”

She frowned. “Wow, um…I don’t—”

“No, no!” His eyes widened and his hand flew back to fiddle with his hair. “I only have it in case it rains or something—it’s warm in there. I tried to tell him that the key wasn’t really, you know…appropriate.” He sighed. “Given that ou are technically still my um, therapist. On paper.”

Temari pursed her lips and pointed her finger at him. “Can we have a rule? No mentioning that.”

Shikamaru’s mouth fell open. “I, er—”

“Just tonight. It’s something to tackle another day.”

“Wow, and here you were telling me not to suppress my emotions.”

“Don’t push it, Shikamaru,” she smirked, taking another chip. “Just eat your chips—you bought them.”

“So,” he said through awkward laughter, grabbing a chip, “shall we forget what I said about the key and go sit in the park?”

“Sounds good to me.”

Slyly she snatched the back of chips in her hands and held them on her other side so he couldn’t reach, as if she thought he wouldn’t notice what it did. It left her closer hand to him completely free, and as he stuffed one hand in his pocket, Shikamaru couldn’t help but wonder if it was intentional—if he should give in to want to touch her skin, warm his hand in hers, or if that wasn’t what she desired at all.

Briefly he let his little finger brush hers, causing her head to snap up quickly, but by the time she locked eyes on him he was already pulling out a cigarette to and endlessly flicking his broken red lighter in hope of a flame. For that split second he’d felt like she’d shocked him by one touch, and he couldn’t help wondering if the look she gave him out of the corner of his eye, so pure and confused, was needy; if it desired more like he did.

“So, um,” he began as he paused lighting his smoke, “did you have an alright day?”

Finally he turned to face her properly, cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth, and stared at her, she shook her head slowly.

“You don’t need to make small talk,” she giggled.

Shikamaru whipped the cigarette from between his lips and slid it back into the carton, knowing the distraction of her bright gleaming eyes was too great. He didn’t want to burn his fingers and he’d brought his dodgy light with him. “I’m sorry,” he sighed, shoving his hands back into his pockets. “I’m just being polite.”

“It’s okay—jus enjoy the silence, Shikamaru,” Temari mumbled. “It’s serene.”

The thought lingered far longer than he expected, like the hum of life a few streets away echoed quietly towards them. Silence forced him to listen, not just to the world around him, but to himself—to his own thoughts in his own head. Shikaku had told him he was like him—too in his own head, too caught up in his thoughts—and he wasn’t wrong. This silence, this supposedly _serene_  quiet, felt like a trial to him, like something was slowly grinding away at the back of his mind. Yes, he’d ignore people when they did speak, but their noise would force him to think of anything but himself.

But silence, pure silence, left him vulnerable and alone in his mind. Surely Temari had pieced this together by now, hadn’t she? When she rustled the bag, pulling out another handful of chips, he turned to look at her expectantly, and he found her expression painted with a sad smile and warming eyes.

Of course she knew, that’s why she was doing it. Five minutes and he’d almost forgotten it was her job to help people tackle their problems, even if only in small ways. And, despite everything, he clearly wasn’t an exception to that.

Silently he shot her a grateful smiled, and turned back to staring at the pavement before he could see the relief spread across her face. She was thankful he understood her, but she wasn’t nearly as thankful for his presence as he was hers.

* * *

Temari reached into the bag and pulled out the last two chips, quickly eating them before Shikamaru could think to grab them. He shook his head, chuckling to himself as he pushed himself up off the park bench and pulled out his cigarettes, huddling away from the wind to light it. When it finally did as told he tossed her the carton, expecting her to rise and join him in the venture, but instead she threw them straight back, shaking her head. As he shoved them into his pocket, Shikamaru shrugged and began to pace, eyes on her the whole time.

“Stop staring at me, weirdo.”

“I’m not staring,” he retorted. “I’m _looking_.”

“Well, why are you over there?”

He shrugged. “Movement means warmth, I guess.”

“Good bit of science there.”

Shikamaru was about to whip back when something suddenly bashed into his leg and he spun rapidly to see a shaggy black mutt circling him, slowing gradually as he began to sniff. Carefully Shikamaru lowered his spare hand for the dog to sniff, but it only ignored his offer of fuss and preceded to sniff his knees.

“Oh my god,” he heard Temari gasp. “Shikamaru love him, he’s lovely.”

The young man took a drag of his cigarette and chuckles out the smoke, shaking his head as he tried to pat the dogs head. “He’s a pain; he won’t stop sniffing me.”

“He can just smell where you’ve wiped your hands on your jeans, you dumb-ass,” she groaned, and when he looked at her she had leant forward reaching out for the dog who instantly trotted over to her, nosing her hand for attention. “See, you’re a good boy, aren’t you?”

“I am?”

She raised her eyebrows at him, never taking her eyes off of the dog, who she fussed and stroked like her life depended on it. “Shut up, Shikamaru.”

“Where’s his owner?”

“Don’t try to get rid of him already. He’s probably up the path a bit.”

“He’s not yours.”

“Dogs are wonderful. Aren’t you?” she giggled, scratching behind his ears. “A dog’s love is good for the soul, isn’t it?”

She was truly going to town on smothering that dog with love, to the extent that Shikamaru was almost a bit jealous. Then again, the grin that spread across her face when that scruffy thing barked with excitement, and the saccharine tone with which she spoke to it was ridiculous; not in a bad way, just very unlike the woman he’d come to know. Sure, she could be harsh, but she could be gentle or apparently, when dogs were involved.

“Hey, Shikamaru?” she asked, her bright smile beaming across the gap between them. “He looks like you, see?”

Shikamaru nearly choked on his drag. “He just _doesn’t_ , does he? Come on, Tem.”

“He does! Black hair, scruffy…” She blushed as her eyes drifted to Shikamaru’s right.

He turned to see an older man chortling to himself, shaking his head and whistling. The dog’s head whipped round and bounded towards him, loyal to his owner, and while Shikamaru had never had a dog, and never considered himself a ‘dog person’ he suddenly saw the benefits of such a companion. For a moment he was almost jealous that that dog wasn’t his, and that if he called him he wouldn’t come over and stare up at him like the world was before him.

It was also clear to see the joy that it brought Temari, and the unearthly girly-ness that had swept her in those moments. Now the dog wasn’t there she was barely housing half the joy she had before, but was almost falling off of the bench she was so close to the edge.

Whether anything _was_ good for the soul, Shikamaru didn’t know—he didn’t even know if such a thing _existed_ —but one thing he felt inclined to say as he saw her childish grin start to fade by the second was that her happiness was important. If she thought something was good, would promote joy, he had every reason to believe her. Her smile alone made him happy, after all.

“I should’ve got fish,” he said, watching the dog trot away.

Temari’s head jolted around and frowned at him. “You’re still hungry, even after all those chips?”

“No, but you ate more than I expected.”

“Excuse me?”

_Shit. That was a mistake._

He chewed on his lip. “I meant I should’ve got it for _you_ , Tem.”

“We can go back and get some more.”

Shikamaru raised his eyebrows, edging his way out of the pit he’d dug himself. “ _You’re_  still hungry?”

“Oh don’t look at me like that. You’re a pole and you need to eat more.”

“Sorry, _Mum_ ,” he chuckled getting to his feet and holding out his hand for her to get up.

She screwed her nose up at him and latched onto his hand until she was on her feet. “Yeah, don’t call me that _ever_  again.”

The pair walked slowly down the pathway, and while she could avoid the piles of mushy ice and wet leaves, his boots trudged right through them. Under the tunnel of trees, where there was barely any light, everything seemed so peaceful and so special, and in the silence where Shikamaru would usually have reached into his inside pocket and began to flick at the cap of his precious lighter, he found his shoulders loosening, settling into the normality of the quiet.

His head was spinning, whizzing with thoughts every second. Every ounce regret fought it’s way to the front as a little girl ran across the path several metres ahead, holding her father’s hand; with every step his mind flooded him with the notion he could trip any minute and she might laugh at him; and when the streetlights grew further away and they enveloped him in darkness, he could feel the worst of thoughts scratching to be heard.

Yes, there was no blanket of noise or her voice to distract those thoughts. But right now, knowing that she was right next to him, did he really need noise?

She really was trying to teach him to enjoy the silence, and it was working.

Suddenly he removed himself from his thoughts to find her stopped only a few steps behind him, and slowly he turned, concerned about her. He took a single step closer before she could speak, her head tilted up to the sky.

“You know what you told me about the clouds?”

Shikamaru, taken aback, simply nodded as he came up beside her, replicating her gaze.

“Yeah, I feel similarly about stars.”

He felt his gut twist.

“They’re not relaxing like clouds, they’re burning, although I’m sure you know that,” he told her, matter of factly. “You don’t want to be a star.”

Temari looked down at her hands and started to pick at her fingernails nervously again. “Gaara always used to make us watch the stars in Baki’s back garden when we were little.”

“Your Godfather?”

She nodded. “The sky was clearer where we used to live before we came here, and when he used to look after us Gaara would drag us out there because he said we needed to see.” She stared up once again, her hands locked together. “It was _my_  fault; he asked me once if I thought Mum was up there, and I told him yes. I know it sounds stupid, but sometimes I just wish I could be up there and see if she really is, you know?”

Shikamaru was thrown. He fumbled for the right words, his fingertips settling his slowly dying cigarette to his lips and taking in a deep breath. It didn’t take a second for his mind to rush back to that night on the hill; the stars and the stories his friends had laughed about. These days—especially in this particular situation—he was all the more grateful that he had been so drunk he couldn’t remember it. Just knowing the things he’d said, lamenting to the sky about Asuma, was enough to clog his throat and almost trap the smoke before he could breathe it out. If he remembered it, he was sure he’d have to leave her hanging, never saying a word.

But as it stood, he understood her sentiment perfectly, and as he took his free hand from his pocket and put his arm across Temari’s shoulders he felt that, even in the littlest way, it was his turn to comfort her. He stared up at the sky, his hand gently rubbing the top of her arm, he couldn’t imagine the contrast. It was bad enough losing Asuma—who despite feeling like family, was just his teacher—he couldn’t imagine being in her position, and losing both her parents so young. Until now he hadn’t considered how upset it made her, but now, as he held her next to him, he could feel her quivering shoulders.

“Doesn’t sound stupid, Tem.”

She didn’t look up at him, just nodded slightly and her head leaned, lopsided, onto his shoulder. Carefully, Shikamaru closed his eyes and pressed a gentle kiss into her hair. The floral smell lingered in his nose when he pulled away, and he couldn’t help but feel extraordinary when she looked up at him, her eyes glistening with tears as she smiled slightly.

Before any could fall, she looked away and leant further into his shoulder. “Forget the fish,” she concluded, sniffling as he arm snaked around his waist, “let’s go to the corner-shop and grab a tub of ice cream.”

Shikamaru chuckled and tried to ignore the fluttering in his stomach. “Ice cream? It’s freezing out here.”

“Yes, but it won’t be in Chōji’s flat.”

“But we weren’t going to—”

“It’s just a warm place with a couch, right?” she retorted, her voice slick with sarcasm. “We slept on it last night, after all.”

He blushed, looking down at her, just for her to catch his eyes for a second. “I know, which is exactly why I wanted to take you _home_  this evening.”

Temari, completely red, and pulled away from his grip reluctantly to smile gratefully and started to walk away. “And you still can. But first, ice cream. I’ll pay.”

She rocketed off ahead and he finished his cigarette, stamping out with a grin.

“But first,” chuckled Shikamaru,  “ice cream…”

* * *

The sofa’s springs squeaked as she fell back on them and Temari caught the spoon Shikamaru threw as it flew in her direction. She ripped the lid off the small tub of strawberry ice cream and dug her spoon right into it before she even slid her tan coat from her shoulders. It was so cold she wasn’t sure she even would, and she wished she’d remembered her gloves. Ice cream and the man a few yards away at once—it seemed like bliss in her eyes.

Shikamaru, on the other hand, whipped his coat off right away, throwing it onto the arm of the sofa next to where she sat before hopping up to sit on the kitchen side. He adjusted the hem of his shirt instinctively and Temari couldn’t help but watch him, giggling to herself as she watched him faffing about with it.

“It’s weird seeing you without a coat,” she smiled. “Or that bloody uniform.”

“You saw me without it last night,” he groaned.

“No I didn’t Shikamaru, I was hammered.”

He laughed, cracking open his own ice cream and sighing. “Changing the subject from my dress-code: I don’t usually like desserts.”

Temari looked at him as if he’d shot something. “You don’t?”

“Well, Chōji usually eats mine because I don’t need it,” he laughed. “Ice cream isn’t something I have often.”

“You should’ve said, stupid. I would’ve got you a banana or something,” she whined.

He raised his eyebrows. “A banana?”

She nodded. “ _Or something_.”

“Don’t worry. I’m going to eat it.”

She didn’t look convinced.

“And enjoy it,” he added, chuckling.

“Good.”

Temari couldn’t help but stare at him, digging away at the pot in his hands, and the way his eyes softened when they settled; they way they darkened when they stared. Silence was pleasant to her—it gave her time to think, but she could see how it bothered him and he’s suffered enough. He’d comforted her back in the park, he’d heeded to her every notion and followed at her heel like a lost puppy. And as much as she wanted to set it aside, she couldn’t help but consider what had got them into this mess to begin with.

She couldn’t help but feel inclined to help him, fix him, make him feel good about himself—good about himself in the way he made her feel about herself, not the way ice cream made her feel good about herself.

“You know,” she said out of the blue, pointing the spoon at him accusatively, “I _could_  remain on paper as your therapist.”

Shikamaru squinted down at her from atop the counter. “I thought we had a rule about this.”

“I made the rule; I can _break_ the rule,” she reasoned, slumping back into the sofa. “It won’t help you nearly as much if I did remain your therapist, but it’s ultimately up to the patient.”

“Tem, it’s getting late—I reckon I should get you home.”

“Can I tell you the conclusion I came to with you before we go?”

He shuffled backward and took a large mouthful, nodding at her slowly. Quickly her eyes changed from cheeky to stoic, but undoubtedly full to the brim with affection. The corners of her eyes crinkled and her cheeks grew tight as she hid a smile. Temari was beautiful all the time, he knew that, but right now with such care flooding her eyes, she was more insanely stunning than he could’ve imagined.

Not that he’d ever have the nerve to say it. She was, after all, the sort to punch him for saying one word in the wrong tone.

“You definitely have depression,” she began, settling her dessert on the table with a sigh,  “but I think it gets triggered by anxieties such as feelings of loneliness. I wouldn’t say it _stems_  from Asuma.” It was clear to see him stiffen up at the name, and Temari smiled until his muscles softened once again into the work-top. “But I think he played a big part in you growing up and he was your aspiration, so him passing clearly put your system out of whack.” She paused, wincing. “Out of whack isn’t a very professional term, is it?”

“Temari,” smirked Shikamaru, “you’re eating ice cream out of a tub on my best mates sofa—just keep talking, alright?”

“Right,” she laughed nervously. “I think what triggers the anxieties that lead to your depression are three things; feeling lonely, feeling like you’ve not done enough, and others that you care about feeling unhappy in some way.”

He leaned forward, his intent to listen overwhelming his sense of self.

“If you tackle feeling like you’re not enough, the last thing should follow.” Taking a deep breath Temari shut her eyes before looking right into his dark, pensive eyes. “Dealing with loneliness is the hardest, and I _definitely_  can’t help you with given the situation and what I’m doing… _here_.” She cleared her throat and bit her lip. “But, Shikamaru, I think I know what you have to do in order to get over the second one.”

Shikamaru put down his ice cream and frowned, hopping off the counter and closing the gap between them with a few steps. “What’s that?”

It wasn’t her place to help him anymore. It wasn’t her place to tell him what he should or shouldn’t do now his own feelings were caught up in him, or at least she was so invested that the professional in her knew it was awful.

But the professional in her was exactly what couldn’t _help_  becoming invested in him. It was so wrong—so unbelievably wrong—but deep in her subconscious it overrode every sane thought in her mind. Patient or not, Shikamaru needed her, didn’t he? That’s what he’d told her, so that’s what had to be done.

“If I tell you, I think you’ll disagree and back out,” she told him plainly. “So for now, I need you to just trust me and I’ll help.”

“And _you’ll_  help? Not somebody else.” It was understandable that a smart man such as him would be questioning her. It was a questionable thing she was planning.

She blushed. “I know I shouldn’t but I’m so invested and I can’t help it.”

“Don’t complain about wanting to help me, Tem. I’m never going to be ungrateful, am I?” He took her tub off of her and handed him what was left of his. “Shall I call a cab or shall we walk?”

Temari shrugged. “Walk, I guess. It’s cheaper and I only live a few streets away.”

“And if your brother sees us?”

“Then I’ll kick him in the nuts.”

There was a moment of silent followed but quiet feminine sniggers.

“So, I just run?”

“Of course you just run away, Shikamaru!”

* * *

He decided, as they shuffled down her street as slowly as they could go, letting their knuckles brush at every possible chance, that he was starting to _enjoy_ it—silence, that is. Silence meant that he could focus on her: on the deep breaths she took as she concentrated on not tripping on the drains or the glint in her eyes when she heard a dog bark from inside of the many terraced houses down her street.

But what she’d said had stuck with him, and he’d managed to go this ten minute walk without bringing it up once—he thought he deserved a pat on the back. The fact she still wanted to help him in all the ways that it was possible—and probably those that weren’t, knowing her—sent a shiver down his spine that conned his brain into perceiving everything around him in a much brighter shade. When Temari was around the dull wash that shrouded his life, and every meeting with her enhanced the colours the little more. Around her, and she didn’t even have to say anything, he felt at peace, and despite the terrifying glares she could give he knew she only ever wanted to help him; she could switch from feisty to charming in seconds, and all with a big smile to accompany it.

A smile that she gave him as she ground to a halt. “We should stop here,” she said. “Just in case Kankuro _does_  see you.”

Shikamaru nodded slowly. “You could beat him up if you needed to, I’m sure. You’d beat me up if you wanted.”

“Who said I don’t?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. _Why_ couldn’t he think of some quip to shoot back at her with?

“So, um…” Carefully, Temari reached up and tore his hand from his neck, giving it a quick squeeze as she stared up into his dark eyes. “Goodnight, I guess.”

“Goodnight,” he repeated, unsure what else to say although he felt like he could speak for hours.

“I had fun.”

He faltered. “Yeah, um…me too.”

Temari smiled sweetly, that same, always perfectly unexpected smile, and started to turn away from him. There was just no stopping it anymore—if he couldn’t find words, he had to do _something_.

“Wait!”

It only took two steps before Shikamaru grabbed her by the hand wrist and she spun around with surprise, only to be greeted by his hand cupping her cheek gently in his freezing cold hands. Gently he placed a short, soft kiss on her lips—so quick she felt it was a moment gone too soon, but long enough that her entire being yearned for it to have lasted forever.

She didn’t mind the smell of smoke, she didn’t mind the scratchiness of his stubble or the freezing cold of his fingertips. They were here, they’d made it to this point, and his touch shot sparks through her body she’d only read about before.

As if out of nowhere, he quickly stole another kiss in the blink of an eye, before pulling away like a teenage boy, bashfully biting his lip. “Goodnight,” Shikamaru whispered, his deep voice soft and raspy, desperate to hide his nerves.

“Goodnight,” she smiled through tingling lips as his hand fell from her cheek.

Reluctantly Temari stepped backwards, barely taking her eyes off the young man until she was right at her doorway. She fumbled for the key in her pocket, checking every few seconds to see if Shikamaru was still there, and sure enough he’d be stood in the same place; smiling gently with his hands firmly in the pockets of his dark jacket.

As she thrust the key into the lock she waved her hand, hoping the darkness would hide the remnants of her blush as she pushed through into the hallway, looking back just in time to see him raise his hand calmly in goodbye.

Shikamaru turned slowly and began to dawdle back home, grinning ear to ear. For a moment he considered jumping up and clicking his heels together with glee like something out of ' _Mary Poppins'_ , but he decided against the idea very quickly. As surreal as this was, this wasn’t some old movie: his was his life now, _real life now_ , and what a lucky man he was.


	23. The Office Desk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Temari discovers someone who might be able to help them, and after an unexpected meeting Shikamaru runs to Temari for consolation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> little warning: contains some very very soft smut. Like barely smut, but very implied. Fluffy smut if you will.
> 
> Hope you enjoy anyway :)

Milk, no sugar, Temari sipped on her tea slowly, staring down that the blank screen of her phone and the empty tub of reheated pasta she’d brought in. All she could do her entire lunch break was stare and hope, waiting for a buzz or a ring and for his name to pop up on the screen.

Discontented, she opened her phone again and examined the message that she had sent earlier that morning, and in turn the lack of response, and her head grew fuzzy as the smile spread across her face.

 

> _'Hi. Thank you again for last night.’_

Barely a line of text, just a simple sentence; it didn’t express at all how she really felt at this point in time. How happy she really was to have spent her evening with him and it having ended nicely; how awful she felt knowing that she was inherently letting down her boss and her integrity; how incredible it was to have him hold her in the park, kiss her outside her home, no matter how cold it was; how her desire to help him had only grown and she could do so little about it.

With a sigh she flicked off her phone and put the empty tub to the side, drawing closer the keyboard on her desk. She groaned, absentmindedly switching on the computer and resting her head in her hands.

How was she going to help him? She’s told him she had a plan, and somehow he’d believed her, but in reality she had no clue. Yes, the road block that he had to tackle before he could feel at peace with the past and what he did for people was clear—he had to understand that he wasn’t causing anyone any suffering by being upset, and that grieving was always okay. But he also had to come to terms with the passing of time, and she knew it wasn’t the man’s death that haunted him most these days. He’d told her it was his own feelings, and how he didn’t deserve to feel that way; how he didn’t deserve to cry when a woman had been left alone without her husband, and a little girl born without her father.

He had to learn, somehow, that he had every right to be sad. He had to learn that others forgive and that others understand.

But how on earth was she going to do that when the person at the heart of this all was not only a stranger to her, but had been gone almost seven years?

Her fingertips danced across the keyboard, opening the database of the practice’s clients and searching for the lady she knew would be walking through the door in five minutes, when suddenly, upon scrolling over her name she stopped.

The name appeared twice, and Temari only knew which was correct by the age in brackets beside her name, but she knew of no other lady of that name that she had seen.

“Oh,” she whispered, her eyes widening, “I can see all of them. Not just mine...”

On a whim, she hurried to type the only name that was circulating in her mind right now, immediately it flashed up: Shikamaru Nara. All of the tiny notes she’d attached to his file herself—for her viewing only, hidden from the other psychiatrists who worked here—flew up across the screen, the same name littering eight percent of the page.

 

> _**Asuma Sarutobi**._

So on a whim, she typed it into the database, and pressed enter with a huff watching as Shikamaru’s file vanished and was replaced with a blank page beside three depressing words:

 

> _No results found._

“Obviously,” she groaned as she backspaced and twisted her hair around her fingers, chewing on her lip. “What about… _surely_ not…”

After taking a sip of her tea she simply typed his last name, wondering if Shikamaru was wrong - it was Asuma was a middle name or nickname, after all.

She almost didn’t search it. Why would his teacher—who sounded perfectly sound of mind from Shikamaru’s vague, but greatly understandable descriptions—have a therapist? And much more so, why specifically hers? It would have to be the most ridiculous chance if his name did appear, and even if it did there was no way for her to access his file unless she asked someone else, and just this morning she’d asked for the paperwork to sign Shikamaru out of her professional care and it was starting her down from her in-tray behind the computer. He wouldn’t be a valid excuse, she’d just look like a nosy bitch.

But what did she have to _lose_  if she clicked enter? She could live with the same feeling of nothing again, that’s for sure.

So she did it, and to her amazement and almost her horror, she got one result.

 

> _‘ **Kurenai Sarutobi** (née **Yūhi** ) - 38’_

Temari couldn’t stop staring, in shock mostly. Her brain whizzed and whirred hoping that maybe she’d get the courage to click on that link and view what little she was allowed to see—see if there was anything at all that linked this person to the situation she was searching for answered to.

Just as her mouse began to hover, her phone suddenly began to buzz and she jumped out of her skin, clicking the name without meaning to. With quivering fingers she lifted the phone to her ear, stunned into silence.

“Tem?”

It was him and his dumb, raspy, deep voice that sent shivers down her spine. As if this situation couldn’t get any more twisted, _he_  just had to go and ring her _now_.

“Temari, are you there?”

“Yes, sorry!” she replied, forcing a laugh. “I was just looking at something. Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

Shikamaru snorted down the end of the line, chuckling. “Nothing. I left my phone at Chōji’s last night—only just grabbed it. I’m on lunch.”

“So am I.”

There was a pause. Had he really just called to hear her voice? If so, as sweet as that might’ve been, Temari did have to admit she had something else on her mind right now.

“So you’re definitely okay, Shikamaru?”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I meant to say thank you.”

“Well, you’re welcome.” She was so glad that this was a phone call—she could feel herself getting flustered the more he spoke. “Was that all?”

“Desperate to get rid of me, are we?” The hint of sadness seeping through the sarcasm of his tone left her feeling slightly evil. “One more thing: are you busy tonight?”

Temari winced. “I’ve not been in two nights in a row, and Kankuro will be threatening to _follow me_  if I go out again, for sure,” she smiled, hoping he could hear the apology that she had meant to say just in her tone. Her mind was elsewhere. More precisely it was exactly where her eyes were, set on this name. “Hey, do you know a ‘Kurenai’?”

The silence on the other end was eerie, and she could hear faint babbling of other people on the street instead of him. He must’ve been smoking, and _she_  must have stopped him dead in his tracks.

“Shikamaru?”

“Um, sorry. Yeah. Kurenai was Asuma’s wife’s name.” He cleared his throat. “Why?”

“No reason,” lied Temari, jotting down the name and address that sat on her screen, the only information provided without authorised access.

“That’s _so clearly_  a lie, Tem.”

“It isn’t a lie,” she chirped. “Just forget I asked.”

“Coincidence’s like that don’t just happen...”

“Shikamaru, are you busy Saturday?”

His deep laugh echoed down the phone. “Don’t try and steer me away from the subject, Tem, I—”

“I said,” she spat, toning up the harshness a little to much, “are you busy Saturday?”

“Saturday?”

“Saturday,” she repeated. “I’m pretty sure Kankuro is spending the weekend with his girlfriend at her place, so he won’t be around.” She carefully set her pen down and nibbled on her thumbnail nervously as she continued. “I thought maybe you’d want to meet my other brother?”

“The non-Kankuro one, right?”

“Yes, the one that you spoke to on the phone.”

Again, Shikamaru paused, but not nearly for as long this time. “I don’t know,” he finally said, his monotone voice firmly back. “I mean, I’ll see you but—”

“Okay,” she rushed. “No, then. Don’t worry.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to meet him, I just—”

“It’s _fine_ ,” she spat. “We can just do something else.” Temari’s eyes fell to her lap. “If you actually want to.”

“Of course I want to.”

Five words and her spirits lifted instantly. It didn’t make her feel any less of an idiot, but she definitely felt her efforts weren’t totally futile. As she stared down at her notebook and the name and address scrawled on the page, her mind flew from side to side with the craziest of ideas—something that he knew she would hate, something he would never agree to in a million years, just like she’d lied to him about already deciding to do.

Instantly, her mind was made up.

“I’ve got a plan for us,” she smirked, hoping he wouldn’t hear the mischief lingering in her tone. “Secret plan, but a plan. You don’t have to think.” She quickly searched the address she’d written down on the internet, and frowned. “Can you drive?”

She could hear him blow near the microphone what she assumed was smoke. “Uh-huh.”

“Do you have a car?”

“No.”

 _Shit_ , she thought. “Do your parents have one?”

“They do. Why?”

Shikamaru was getting suspicious of her—she could tell—so, in the sweetest voice she could muster without sounding ridiculous, Temari made her final play; asked her final question: “Can you borrow it on Saturday?”

“Sure.”

_That was too easy._

“I’ve, um…” She heard rustling on the other end and a bell jingle. “I’ve got to go.”

Temari stretched a smile across her face. “Okay. Shall I text you later?”

“If you want to,” he chuckled, unbothered. “Go for it.”

 _Mixed messages, dumb-ass,_  she pondered. _Good job I know what you’re like by now._

“Right,” he added, the word loaded with finality. “See you later.”

She almost whispered through her smile into the microphone. “Bye.”

“Yeah, bye.”

When the line went dead, Temari could barely believe the situation was real. Here she was with the name and address of the woman who Shikamaru felt so obliged to help and ashamed of himself that he never actually did; the person who might actually help him see that there’s good in the world, and show him how people _can_  let things go and that they understand. She knew it would be intruding on personal space, but she knew it had to be worth a shot. Worst case scenario: if the woman turned out to be really rude and horrible, they could take away from the experience that she probably didn’t deserve the help he offered her.

But what else seemed surreal was Shikamaru. When he joked with her and listened to her, she couldn’t help but picture the obnoxious young man she’d first met, so skinny and scrawny she couldn’t believe he was an adult. After just under one month he’d come so far; he looked so much healthier as though he’d eaten more and better, and generally had a much healthier attitude as far as she could tell. But Temari couldn’t help but notice that it wasn’t her efforts as his psychiatrist that had made much of a difference to that. What was affecting him, helping him, seemed to be what she’d done for him as a _friend_ , or _whatever_  she was to him now.

Helping people in whatever way was good, she knew that deep down, but she couldn’t do this with everybody or else she’d wear herself out. She had become a therapist to help everyone, lots of people, and she had to do it the right way.

It was time to put aside all her thoughts of Shikamaru Nara when she was in this room.

So, vowing to finally adhere to her professionalism, she clicked shut the file of Kurenai Sarutobi and quickly skimmed the page of the lady about to walk through her door. She tore the page with the info she’d jotted down from her notebook and slipped it into her bag, knowing that she had all the time in the world to figure the logistics of that out _in her own time_.

She reached behind her computer and signed the papers to end his time as her patient, and it was if something clicked in her brain as she slid the paperwork into her out-tray. Each hour, from now on, was totally dedicated to whoever was on that couch and not some lanky, handsome genius smoking outside of the florist.

Just in time, Temari slid her phone in her bag, and a gentle rapping on the door told her to lunch was definitely over.

“Hi!” she called out. “Come on in!”

* * *

“I’m leaving,” Shikamaru called out to Ino upstairs, stashing his apron behind the counter on the shop floor. “Chuck me my coat!”

“Get your own coat!”

“Ino, it’s pissing it down outside! Give me my coat!”

After a short moment of waiting, the coat tumbled down the stairs and he smiled. “Thanks,” he said, grabbed the coat and throwing it on. “See you later.”

If she did reply, he didn’t wait around to listen; he was out of that door as quickly as he could be. It wasn’t that he was desperate to be in the rain, or even that he was desperate for the cigarette that he habitually slotted between his lips, but after a long day, as soon as the clock struck four-thirty, he was ready for fresh air to hit his face. Plus, he couldn’t be roped into closing up shop _again_.

As he hurried to light his cigarette, Shikamaru just so happened to glance up and across the street, curious if his favourite overprotective carpenter was mulling around by the window as he had been on Shikamaru’s lunch break. And, as if by magic, there he was, raking his hands through his brown hair and looking straight into his eyes.

Upon finally lighting his smoke and puffing out a large cloud into the cold air, Shikamaru shot the man a subtle smile, raising his hand—half-arsed—in recognition.

As with Ino, he didn’t wait around to see his response—he wasn’t sure he wanted to—but he new two things instantly as he started walking along the pavement. The first was that he wished he’d taken up Temari’s offer to meet Gaara, knowing how pissed Kankuro would inevitably be and how amusing it would be for him, if a little scary. The second was more important for this precise moment; his coat had no hood or waterproofing, and it really was _pissing_  it down.

Shikamaru rooted around the inside pocket of his coat with his spare hand, never sacrificing a moment of extra warmth that each drag of his cigarette gave him over that task, and searched for loose change which he was sure he’d accumulated over time. He pulled out a monstrous four-pound-sixty.

 _Enough to get me home,_  he noted, shoving it into the pocket of his jeans and continuing his walk to the bus stop.

By the time he got to the bus stop, the cigarette he desperately clung to was on it’s last legs, and he put the tube to rest under his foot as he fell back onto the seat of the shelter. In his pocket, his phone buzzed, and he slowly pried it out from his pocket, rolling his eyes.

 

> _**Ino** : ‘U sure walk slow for some1 in the rain x’_

> _‘I’ll paint that window black one day, Ino.’_

Shaking his head, he quickly checked Temari’s number, something deep in his gut wishing that any second his phone would buzz in his hands and he could hear her voice again. He felt stupid for it, but he couldn’t help himself typing a pathetic ‘Hello’ and staring it, unsent in his message box.

“Hey, kid!”

His head shot up, and right there stood the bus and a red-faced old man at the wheel, leaning toward him.

“You getting on or what?”

Sheepishly, Shikamaru hauled himself up and onto the bus, emptying the change into the drivers hand and shoving his phone and the ticket he received into his inside pocket when he flopped back into his seat near the front. His fingertips brushed against the silver lighter that always loomed in that pocket, and a shiver, as if he hadn’t expected it, made stuck the hairs on the back of his neck on end as he enveloped it in his palm carefully.

When he took it from his pocket, he examined it as he always did; running his thumb along every smooth edge, across the curved top and flicking it open. For a second he stared at the place from which the flame should burst from—a flame he had never dared to ignite—but all too soon, as though he wasn’t controlling his own hand, the young man flicked it shut once again.

 _Click_. Pause. _Click_. Pause. _Click_. Pause.

Countless times he had sat in his garden and stared at that lighter, lifeless and unlit, and felt it burn his hand until he could look at it no longer. Sometimes he’d even been unable to look at it, but despite that he’d never go anywhere without it in his pocket. He had to; most of the time it was more of a comfort blanket to him than anything he’d ever owned, and in any moment of unease he reached for it without thinking, which always lead to the same repetitive pattern.

 _Click_. Pause. _Click_. Pause. _Click_. Pause.

He wasn’t sure that anyone really understood what it meant to him to own it or why it was so precious to him, and as he sat on that bus seat he was sure the noise was bothering countless people. At the same time, however, he didn’t care. What had triggered his need to fiddle with it’s lid he wasn’t sure, but the action certainly accompanied the slightly uncomfortable feeling in his chest. Admittedly, it was probably nerves as to why Temari had been so vague earlier, and why she’d asked about the things she did, the _person_  she did…

He felt his shoulders tightening as he remembered her sad face, and as the bus came to a stop Shikamaru opened the lighter one final time. _Asuma_ , he thought to himself, _I’m so sorry…_

“Shikamaru? Shikamaru Nara?”

 _Click_.

The voice was so soft he’d barely managed to recognise it, but as he lifted his head with the lighter shut firmly and tight in his fist, the was no denying it. He gulped and hopped to his feet without thinking, his eyes too permanently set on the woman before him and the little pair of legs that hid behind hers.

 _This is a cruel joke, universe,_  he thought as he stared down into the eyes of Kurenai Sarutobi, rife with mixed emotion and clearly as unsettled as he was. The little hand she gripped in her own left him speechless, and his mouth fell open as the little girl peered around her mother and up at him.

Quietly, as she tugged on Kurenai’s sleeve,  she whispered, “Mummy, who’s that?” But her mother was equally as speechless as the young man before them. Her eyes fell down to the lighter in his hands and she sighed, her lips parting slowly.

He knew what she was about to say, and there was no in way he could stomach it.

With too much haste Shikamaru shoved the lighter back into his pocket and, mouth moving silently as it tried to form any word whatsoever, he slipped passed her, shaking his head sadly.

“S’cuse me!” he called to the driver. “Hello, can I get off please?”

“This isn’t your stop, son,” the older gent laughed. “Your ticket says—”

“ _Please_.”

The driver frowned at him as he fumbled for the button to open the door, and Shikamaru shot him a thankful look as he hurried off the bus and into the rain. He wrapped his scarf tighter around his neck and chewed on his bottom lip as each freezing cold droplet smacked him in the face. Moments ago fingering the lighter in his pocket was calming, a charm if you will, and yet in the last few minutes he’d felt like throwing it in every bin he sped past as he walked. He didn’t deserve it.

 _The little girl,_  he thought to himself. _That little girl…_

All these years he had been right: he really _was_  too much of a coward to face a seven-year-old.

The old man was right—his stop was nowhere near here—and it was so wet he could barley function. And, worst of all, he was alone, and he knew himself too well—he’s had too many therapists—to deny that the one thing he couldn’t be was alone right now. But where was he? Almost nothing was familiar except for one huge tree he could see at the end of the street ahead—that tree was at the end of the road of her practice.

“No,” he told himself bitterly. “You can’t burden her with this. She isn’t your therapist anymore, asshole.”

But he _had_  to! His entire body compelled him to, as though his mind wasn’t the boss of him anymore and it couldn’t decide when he took a step or whether he edged closer to the road’s edge. It was his gut that was in charge now—a complete anomaly in his boring, repetitive life—and it was going to drag him to Temari whether he wanted it to or not. Somehow, he knew what he needed. Screw enjoying the silence, and screw burdening his ex-therapist with all of his crap, she was also important to him; a friend at the very least.

If he had to choose the rush that came with seeing and listening to Temari, whether he told her the truth or not, or the inevitable feeling that would drown him if he went home and hid away in his room, the choice was obvious.

He’d drowned himself in his sorrows, or swallowed them down, too many times to count. It was his turn to be selfish.

Despite the cold his cheeks grew hot, a concoction of hot tears and embarrassment flooding them. He drew to a halt, his feet landing in a puddle. Each droplet of water pelted into his eyes, blinding him, and it forced him to look down. Just out of interest he checked the time, and it was only four-fifty. Shikamaru knew from experience that her last session lasted until five, and with any luck she would still be in that room; with an extra heap of luck on top of that, if he ran, he could make it there in ten minutes.

Then he simply had to hope that the fifteen pennies he had left in the pocket of his jeans was enough to convince the lady at reception to let him through to her.

* * *

Temari wasn’t ready for the door to fling open as she started packing her bag. And when she turned around to tell whoever it was that she would do whatever they wanted from her tomorrow, she _definitely_  wasn’t prepared for _this_.

He stood before her, dripping from head to toe with windburned cheeks as he struggled to catch his breath. Somehow he looked like he’d been chased, but by what she couldn’t even begin to imagine. For a moment she suspected Kankuro, but as she looked properly she could see the bloodshot nature of his eyes, and her heart began to pound faster and faster.

There was a puddle developing on the wooden floor he stood on underneath his boots, but he didn’t seem to care. Chest expanding and contracting rapidly, Shikamaru flashed her an impossibly believable smile and couldn’t take his eyes off of her, as if his life depended on it.

For all she knew about him, maybe it did.

“Shikamaru?” she gasped, immediately dropping her bag into her desk chair. “What’s wrong—what’re you doing here?”

He blinked rapidly and rubbed his eyes, wiping some of the water away.

“You’re soaking wet!”

“I’m fine,” he sighed, throwing his sopping wet coat off onto the couch with a thud. Even his awful flowery uniform was stuck to him and despite the desire to stare below his neck, Temari watched his eyes closely. “Busy day?”

“Yeah…I was, er, just going home,” she stumbled, trying not to smile and ending up gaping.  Something was wrong here; she couldn’t forget that. “You can’t be here, you know?”

“I know.”

“They know you’re not my patient anymore. How on earth did you get in here?”

He bit on his lip, unwinding his scarf from around his neck; ten shades darker from the rain. He looked like he’d been crying, but she didn’t know if that was just the rain. “I said it was urgent and the lady at reception said she was just about to go home. I don’t think she could be bothered to stop me.”

Temari still couldn’t close her mouth. “What the hell are you doing here?” Quickly she sped towards him and put her hands on his shoulders. “You aren’t feeling really low again, are you? If you are you’ve got to tell me.”

He shook his head, but it didn’t hide the red around his eyes. “I thought I was,” he lied, “but to be honest I just wanted to see you.”

“I said I’d see you on Saturday.”

“Saturday isn’t now.” He blushed as one of his hands held hers against his shoulder as he turned his head, looking out of the window. “Can we shut that?”

“Why?” Temari grew a little rigid and stepped backwards, never taking her gaze from him. Carefully she pulled the binds down and cocked her head to one side.. “You’re not paranoid now, too, are you?”

Shikamaru’s face contorted into the most wonderful smile she had ever seen. “Temari?”

“Yeah?” Her cheeks flushed, just knowing he had a smile like that for her.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.”

It was as though, in a matter of seconds, his eyes changed and he sped towards her before she could think to say anything else. His hands captured her waist as he crashed his lips into hers, taking the spark that ignited in her eyes the closer he grew as his permission, and she did nothing but granted it. Temari’s arms flew around his neck and hooked themselves firmly in place. It was so full of rough, passionate urgency, especially on his part, that she barely noticed herself climbing onto her tip toes, desperate to be closer to him.

Neither of them, now that they’d felt it, could bear to lose the genuine, harsh passion and stack of feelings this brought. Stopping wasn’t an option—neither did they want it to be.

Temari weaved her fingers through the edge of his hairline until her composure began to vanish, and she started to tug gently on tiny handfuls. She could feel herself melting at his every time his hands traced up and down hers sides gently, from the top of her torso to her lower hip. His fingertips lingered at her hips, almost but never quite hooking underneath the waistband of her skirt on their way.

The more she pulled at his hair and absentmindedly ground her hipbones against him, the more the need for her grew inside him. Without thinking he let his hands run down her thighs and lifted her, and to his surprise her long legs tightened around his waist.

Suddenly could feel it all at once—all of him and the desire that had been building for so long in full force, and her heart pounded faster in her chest with the same want that rampaged through his eyes.

“Put me on the table,” she commanded through the kisses. “Right fucking now.”

Without hesitation, Shikamaru did as he was told and immediately his thumb teased open the top button of her blouse.

“You’re a tease, Nara,” she whispered, her hands shamelessly pulling at the collar of his shirt.

“I try to be.”

“Shut up and take my damn shirt off, flower boy.”

In seconds the buttons were undone and her shirt at their feet, and the sudden hit of cold air felt like nothing under his hot breath. Shikamaru followed in hot pursuit, undoing only a few buttons before throwing the ghastly floral shirt to the ground.

As stared at what he was luck enough to have before him, Shikamaru’s heartbeat quickened. He felt almost like he was going to faint as she grabbed his shoulders in her soft hands, her cheeks growing redder by the second from the heat and anticipation. The darkness of the room didn’t matter; the little light from the lamplight was enough to illuminate her for him, and the radiance that shone from behind her eyes stopped him dead for a moment. He began retrace his steps, even more delicately touching her sides than before, lingering longer on her lower abdomen and ribs than she last remembered.

Although, it easily could’ve been her impatience taking hold of her once more.

“Tem, can—”

“Don’t,” interrupted Temari, her impatience and lust driving her body. “Don’t you dare—just do it.”

He reached round back and fiddled with the clasp of her bra, desperate to dispose of the cloth that blocked what his hands desired, all the while too greedy to break their kiss again. Shikamaru couldn’t help it. He wanted every breathe to be taken with her, touching her, holding her close. As he finally set free the clasp and threw the final garment to the floor, he pressed himself right against the table, feeling Temari’s arms tighten around his neck as one of his hands finally took hold of what it wanted.

“How’s _this_ ,” he mumbled into their kiss, “for unethical?”

Temari didn’t even bother humouring him with an answer, simply unhooking her arms from his neck and letting them travel down his chest as he chewed on her lip, fighting back gentle moaned. She could feel his body relax and quiver the lower her fingertips grazed, and the broken breaths he took were too much for her to handle. Reluctantly he let her lip loose from his teeth and Temari let out a soft hum.

And with that she just let him. She let his hands roam, his lips pepper her jawline until she pushed him down her neck. She allowed his fingertips to pull at the hem on her skirt, ride it up and push her back. With every movement he made, she felt important. In no way was this the slow and sensual situation she’d mulled over in her mind last night, full of kind words and affection—it didn’t need to be. It was raw, it was real and it was them, exactly how she wanted it to be.

Never in his life had Shikamaru wanted something so much— _someone_  so much—as when he pulled away from the kisses he placed across her abdomen to look down at her on that table. And when she sat up and her hands tore through the fastener of his jeans, he, too, had no objection. Nor could he object when her legs flew around his waist once again and he felt at once her exact feelings.

Temari couldn’t handle the way his breath danced against her neck, and how his deep moans fluttered to her ear. Even how his hair fell free and caressed her bare skin drove her crazier with every motion he made.

And Shikamaru certainly couldn’t take the way she said his name, almost silently, or the way her fingernails scratched at his back desperately.

It was like nothing either of them had felt before. They didn’t need to go slow, and they didn’t need to rush. As they continued, scaling higher and higher toward their moments of ecstasy, neither of them even patient enough to fully undress, the pair felt liberated. A weight of frustration finally reaching the point at which it could drop, crash, and release it’s havoc upon the both of them. And they were not going to stop it.

Over this desk they had spoken for the very first time, and now over this desk they explored one another in the way they had so hungrily hoped for, over and over and _over_  again…

* * *

Shikamaru’s knees quivered as he buried his face in her neck, the both of them grinning ear to ear as they struggled for breath. He could feel the rise and fall of her chest against his now, the gentler touch of her fingertips weaving through his hairline, and he pulled back to look into her eyes.

Blushing, Temari felt somewhat starstruck, and cupped his cheeks with her hands, now sheer with sweat rather than the depressing layer of rain and tears he’d walked in wearing. Her forehead pressed against his and she found herself giggling, adjusting her position on the table, closer to the edge. Even now—no, _especially_  now—she felt compelled to be as close to him as she possibly could, and Shikamaru didn’t seem to object.

As he smiled, he zipped up his jeans and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, chuckling softly. Much to her dismay he left the table and grabbed her blouse, throwing it her way before shuffling back towards her. Examining her scruffy hair and the red marks that littered her collarbones made his eyes narrow, lips shifting into a smirk.

“Pleased with yourself, flower boy?” mused Temari, blushing as she rushed to cover her torso.

He shrugged, reached for her hips and pulling them toward him off of the table. “You could say that.”

“I thought you said you’d never had a girlfriend.”

“I haven’t,” he sighed. “That doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Oh. Right.” Her tone of bitter jealousy was remarkable—it took all his strength not to laugh. “Well, you unfortunately do.”

“Unfortunately?”

Temari replicated his mischievous grin and pressed a soft kiss on his lips. “I’m _kidding_.”

“Of course you are.” He returned the kiss. “You really are so fucking beautiful.”

“I know,” she giggled, her hands flush against his bare chest, and Shikamaru couldn’t help but take a step back, smiling.

He leaned down to grab his sopping wet uniform and groaned, his whole body whizzing with the adrenaline. From the way his top lip curved she knew whatever followed would be accidentally condescending, and yet waited until his mouth was open, ready to speak, to butt in by shuffling off of her desk.

“I’m glad you came,” she said feebly, doing up the final few buttons of her blouse and adjusting her skirt.

“As am I.”

Temari nodded. “I didn’t really want to wait until Saturday for you to kiss me again.”

“Neither did I.”

Oh, the little smile on his face; why was it so stupidly perfect?

As he stood, watching her hair flutter and her curves sway as she strolled closer to him, straight into his arms, Shikamaru couldn’t ignore how stunning the woman before him truly way. Of course he already knew that—since he’d stepped through the door he’d thought it was perfectly clear that’s how he viewed her—but as she looked up into his eyes he knew it was more than that.

There was only so much you could dwell on someone’s physical beauty until it grew a bore—Shikamaru knew that from every week-long crush he’d had at school—and here stood his perfect example of a woman, whose eyes dug deep into him and urged him to be himself. With her, he felt calmer, and until she pulled him closer and buried her face into his bare neck, Shikamaru had forgotten all about his ordeal before arriving as though her presence wiped his memory. But now, as her fingers traced patterns on his skin, something compelled him, _urged_ him to be honest with her.

She knew he was down, he could tell, and he hardly wanted to lie to her face.

“Tem?”

She hummed gently into his collarbone.

“I saw her today. On the bus.”

“Who?”

“Kurenai, and her daughter.” He took a deep breath and it rushed out, staggered. “She recognised me.”

“Did you speak to her?”

With a shake of his head, a humourless laugh escaped his throat. “Yeah, right. As if I’ve got the guts to do _that_.”

“What do you think she thinks of you? Surely you don’t think she hates you, Shikamaru.”

He grunted, burying his face in his hair. “I can’t say I’m itching to talk about it, Temari.”

“ _You_  brought it up.”

“I know,” he sighed, shaking his head. “I just thought I’d tell you.”

“You don’t have to feel obliged to tell me everything anymore.”

“I don’t feel obliged. I _want_  to.”

Slowly Temari pulled away so she was at arms distance from him. Her lips curved up into a sad smile. “Then you’ve got to be open.” She watched as his eyes grew narrower and sadder by the second and she took his hands, squeezing them gently. He was so handsome; it was a shame he was burdened by such sadness. “We don’t have to talk about it right now,” she added.”

Shikamaru looked grateful and squeezed her hands in return in three short bursts before letting go, reaching up to fix his hair back into a slightly less messy ponytail. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

“But you’ve got to remember something,” said Temari, biting on her lip as she walked back to the—now violated—desk to find her phone. “You’ve got to love, or—at the very least— _accept_  yourself in here…” She pointed at her temple. “Nothing will come easily until then.”

She could see in his eyes that he was ready to pick apart what she meant like that, but Temari wasn’t ready to answer any questions. She herself wasn’t sure what she meant by that, and sadly she knew she wouldn’t have an answer to him if he did part his lips any say anything to her.  The way she felt about him was so complex, and he was generally so confusing, that she wasn’t able to peg it down even in her own mind. No words could describe the jumble of want, admiration and pity that swelled when she looked into his dark eyes or that pensive expression. After what they’d just done what was she meant to say? She adored him, undeniably, but she wasn’t sure that was what was good for him.

Maybe, for now, keeping that quiet would be the best thing for him.

“Put your shirt on, Nara,” she mumbled before he could speak, forcing a believable smile. “I’ll call you a cab.”


	24. Like Father, Like Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaara and Kankuro have different conversational approaches, and Shikaku is a little too interested in his son's life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's been a while. but wahey - I'm back!

As Gaara heard the latch of the door click when it shut, laughter echoed through the house, and he couldn’t help but smile at the sound. Rising above the murmuring of the television upstairs, his brother’s laughed bellowed out and, slightly quieter, his sister’s giggles fell well-received on Gaara’s ears. Kicking off his shoes, the young man stepped through into the main room to see the pair grinning. Kankuro clutched the arm of the sofa, and from the floor Temari smiled up at him, and the youngest sibling found himself clearing his throat to grab their attention.

The smile on his face not ceasing, Kankuro turned to his brother. “Have you seen this?” he asked, uncharacteristically excited.

It took seconds for Gaara to see the movie on the screen and register how awful it was. Slowly, he shook his head and reached for a towel from the kitchen side, rubbing it across his sopping wet hair.

Temari rolled her eyes. “You forget that Gaara doesn’t like bad horror movies.”

“But taking the piss out of them is hilarious!”

“They’re just terrible, Kankuro,” sighed Gaara, placing the now wet cloth on the nearest radiator. “But if you both want to keep watching I can grab dinner.”

“No need.” The excitement in Kankuro’s voice hadn’t wavered. “We’ve got fajitas!”

“Hopefully not cooked by you…”

“Very funny,” he chuckled. “No. Tem said she’d make whatever I fancied.”

He could see the way the blonde adjusted her position as he said her name, her shoulder’s tensing slightly before beaming at him almost lifelessly. She looked flushed. No, she looked flustered—but such feeling was clearly hidden behind her eyes and the falseness she seemed to carry herself with in this moment. It didn’t so much seem like she was lying about anything, to Gaara—he dealt with lies constantly. What lay in her eyes was something even more worrying to him; her face was laced with guilt.

And yet she laughed with a true sense of authenticity. Rarely had she liked the ridiculous movies that flew across the TV screen more than Gaara did, and yet her grin was undeniable; her gaze set rigidly on the middle child as though if his smile were to waver her world—her facade of whatever this was—would come crashing down.

“Will there be cheese?” he asked, leaning against the table casually as he strengthened his stare at Temari.

“If you’re willing to go up the shop and get it, sure,” she replied. “But I doubt you’re willing to brave the elements after you _just_  got in, and I just had a shower so I’m definitely not going out there.”

Slowly, all eyes started to turn to Kankuro, but even he pulled a disgruntled expression as he let the cushions of the sofa swallow him up. As Temari rolled her eyes and hopped to her feet, her cheeks flushed with something Gaara was sure wasn’t simply warmth, and he tapped her on the shoulder as she strolled past him, stopping her.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice deep. “Can I ask you something?”

He thought he saw her gulp. “Go ahead.”

The feeling of their brother’s eyes on them was unfathomably intense. Kankuro’s stare felt almost like it would burn through his shirt and brand Gaara a sneaky bugger for trying to reveal this serene family evening for what it truly was. But as his brother groaned, and in his peripheral vision propped himself up to better listen in, Gaara let out a massive sigh. He knew there was no way he could possibly talk to Temari and get her to be honest with him here, and if he did the young man would blow everything _totally_  out of proportion; though he meant well, he always did.

Besides, Gaara had the biggest inkling that what was plaguing his sister was something to do with the man who currently sat atop Kankuro’s ‘ _hate list_ ’ as he sometimes called it. But he had to ask—he’d think himself a bad brother if he let it slide and kept up the charade.

No, he _had_  to get Kankuro to leave. And it really ought to have been easy enough, given he could annoy his brother to the ends of the Earth.

“Brother,” he began, “would you mind going and getting cheese?”

Kankuro stifled a laugh, raising his eyebrows at him. “I wish you’d stop saying that.”

“What?”

“Brother.”

“But you _are_  my brother.”

“ _Yes_. And yet it’s bloody creepy when you say it.”

“Please,” he added politely, “it’s only about her stuff. There’s this criminal psychology element of this module I’m doing and—”

“Okay, fine. I’m gone.” He hauled himself up and grabbed his coat from the wall. “But there better be hot food ready when I get back.” Both Gaara and Temari watched as he rummaged his pockets, checking for his wallet and forcing a smile. Reluctantly he gave them a thumbs up, swinging round the threshold towards the front door.

The minute he heard that door slam shut and steps grow softer upon their pathway, Gaara shot his attention straight back to his sister, who’s expression had transformed into the very image of relief.

“Right,” he sighed, “what have you done?”

Temari frowned, forcing a laugh as she backed away, opening the fridge when she reached it. “I’m sorry?”

Gaara’s eyes widened, his forehead wrinkling slightly. “You’re acting really suspiciously, Temari. Letting Kankuro watch his awful movies, cooking him what he wants for dinner…” He shook his head a little, smirking. “This is textbook guilty behaviour for you, so what have you done?”

As her eyes locked onto her brother’s eyes, Temari felt her gut twist. It upset her how wrong he _wasn’t_ , and how _easily_  he could read her after all these years. She hesitated as she reached into the fridge, blind, her fingertips quivering at the cold _and_  the nerves that shot through her. Millions of times she had offloaded her problems onto Gaara, and more than a couple of times had she told him about the men she’d dated, been with, _avoided_ , sometimes even in serious detail. He knew he understood, and he knew that he would almost never judge. ‘The cool brother’, he had said; but in reality wasn’t there a point that cool might become cold?

Why did telling him about today feel like _that_  could be the point? Why did it feel like letting slip about Shikamaru, and how she clung to his every word—even clung to his body at one damn point—would completely alter his view on her; on him, too?

Unlike Kankuro, Gaara was at this point open-minded about Shikamaru. No, he’d actively assisted in setting up their date last night. She wanted at least _one_  of them to like him, and she wanted Gaara, in particular, to not think ill of her for this. She knew she’d been hasty, but today had been a long time coming. Only when it had happened had she realised the truth in that fact, but it had.

But how right it seemed to her didn’t mean things would translate the same in his brain.

No, she couldn’t risk it.

“Nothing,” she choked out.

She ripped a packet of chicken from the fridge shelf and dropped it on the side, and every followed in quick succession. Every clatter of plastic or cardboard shot through her ears,, distracting her for a mere second before her lip would start twitching. As she shut the door she caught it between her teeth, and absentmindedly began to pick at her fingernails.

Reluctantly her eyes raised to see him once again, staring at her expectantly. 

“Oh, okay. _Fine_ ,” she whined, leaning against the kitchen side. “You know I went out with him last night?” She waited for her brother to nod. “Yeah, it went really well. Like _really_  well.”

Gaara sighed, sitting up on the kitchen side next to her. “You didn’t sleep with him?”

“No, I didn’t,” she shook her head, biting her lip. “But I saw him today and…” Uncomfortably, she cleared her throat. “Well…”

“You slept with him.”

Temari ducked her head in shame, pouting as she frowned. “Don’t make me feel guilty, Gaara.”

“I’m not. You’re doing that to yourself,” he sighed.

“You’re being blunt, and you’re _obviously_  disappointed in me,” sighed Temari, avoiding her brother’s eyes. “May I remind you that you egged me on to sleep with him the other week?”

“I _was_  joking. I thought that would be clear.”

She shifted her weight, turning and reaching for a knife before grabbing a pepper from one of the packets. “Gaara, can we get to the questions about psychology please?”

“Obviously there aren’t any.”

If she wasn’t drowning in guilt she wouldn’t rolled her eyes. “I seriously hate you sometimes.”

Gaara, however, held no such guilt, and rolled his as he hopped off the side and sat down at the table. “I’m not disappointed in you.”

She began to chop. “You look it.”

“No, I’m just worried about you.”

“Shikamaru is harmless,” she told him, her voice completely level.

Gaara screwed his nose up.

“Don’t do a Kankuro on me,” she whined. “Speaking of: don’t you dare mention this to him.”

“You have to at least tell him you aren’t treating Shikamaru anymore.”

“Why? It’s none of his business.”

Gaara hoisted his phone from his pocket and tapped the screen a couple of times. “Temari, I get bi-hourly updates about your boyfriend whenever he’s in the shop.”

“You’re kidding…”

“I’m not. Read them.” He carefully handed her the device and pursed his lips as she took it, tentative.

She frowned as her eyes adjusted, focussing on the bright screen.

 **(8:42) Kankuro:** _Why does he always look like that????_

 **(8:53) Gaara:** _Who?_

 **(8:54) Kankuro** : _Temari’s stalker_

 **(8:54) Gaara:** _?_

 **(8:55) Kankuro:** _Spiky haired prick. He’s got a face like a busted boot_

 **(8:59) Gaara:** _Class is starting. Grow up, brother._

Temari looked up at her youngest brother who, himself, looked bemused.

 **(12:32) Kankuro:** _G he’s a smoker. Seriously! Imagine what dad would say if he knew she was throwing her license for this idiot_

 **(12:33) Gaara:** _I’m in class. I’m focussing. I suggest you do the same_.

 **(12:33) Kankuro:** _Seriously! face is so punchable G_

 **(12:39) Gaara:** _Turn away from the window and work._

**(12:40) Gaara:** _And do not call me ‘G’._

**(14:59) Kankuro:** _G if he touches Tem I will acc hit him_

 **(15:02) Kankuro:** _*Gaara_

 **(15:07) Kankuro:** _blonde girl in the shop is hot though._

“He’s going to start being problematic soon.”

Her head shot up again, her mouth gaping open. “ _Start_?” A dumbfounded laugh spluttered out. “Gaara, he went into the shop and spoke to him solely about me yesterday. And _this_? How long has he been doing it?”

“Only since the start of the week.”

She rolled her eyes, genuinely unable to form a serious thought on the situation. “ _Only_ …”

With a loud buzz, the phone in her hand vibrated, and on the screen appeared another message from Kankuro. Through her body shot an intense feeling of fear that maybe in her amazement and with carelessness she had pressed voice record; that maybe he’d been listening to her. Nervously she took a proper look at what had appeared.

A photograph of two rivalling blocks of cheese in the palm of Kankuro’s huge hand.

Temari’s eyes flew to the back of her head as she passed it back to Gaara and turned her attention back to the chopping of peppers. “I can’t tell him I went out with Shikamaru, Gaara.”

“And why not?” he asked, rapidly tapping his screen. “I’m not asking you to admit you shagged him—”

“Gaara, please stop.”

“—just that you’ve stopped seeing him as a patient. And that you’ve seen him as an, um… _non-patient_.”

Forcing back a smile at her brother’s awkwardness, Temari pursed her lips. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I want to keep seeing him…”

Gaara put his phone down, sitting back in the chair with a deep sigh. He ran a hand through his hair as he zoned in on the worry in her eyes. The opposition lurking at the back of his throat was silenced in one look and he smiled softly at her. “Nobody can’t stop you, but I think at the very least you need to prioritise his mental health.”

“I have been thoroughly schooled in prioritising such things, _thank you_ ,” she groaned.

“Then just do it.”

Forget worry; her impatience was taking centre stage now. “He’s not _my_  patient anymore, Gaara!”

“Then make sure he’s _someone’s_  patient,” he sighed. “As his girlfriend you owe that to him.”

“We’ve been on one date and…” She blushed. “Look, I’m not his girlfriend.”

“You want to be.” He paused as she stopped cutting vegetables and raised her eyebrows at him. “Don’t look at me like that, Temari. Don’t deny it.”

With a sigh she shook her head. “I do,” she said, “but you and Kankuro—”

“What _about_  me and Kankuro?”

“You’ll try and stop me.”

“We wont,” insisted Gaara. “I just told you—”

“Okay then: _he_  will.”

Gaara shook his head, smiling. “No, Temari; he won’t. _Dad_  would’ve, and while Kankuro has his moments, they _are_ different people.”

“But he isn’t wrong,” she sighed, rubbing her forehead with the back of her hand. “And Dad _would’ve_  been so annoyed that I spent so long studying just to get my license revoked.”

“It won’t be.”

Her eyebrows raised. “How do you _know_  that?”

The look in his eyes told her plainly that he didn’t, but his composed voice almost tricked her. “Just be rational for a minute, Temari.”

“Gaara…”

“Gaara, what?”

“His mental state,” she sighed. “I can’t be responsible for worsening it…”

Temari watched him closely as he ran his hands through his hair, elbows flush against the table. He stared at his lap, head hung low, as though he had no idea how to counter her, and why should he? For whatever reason her brother seemed conflicted; one side of him desperate for righteousness, the other yearning for his sister to simply be happy. She couldn’t exactly blame him. If the tables were turned then Temari knew she’d have no idea how to approach the situation, and she doubted she’d be able to stop herself focussing solely on the pros of the situation—Gaara deserved someone more than she did in her eyes, after all.

The mental back and forth that was obvious from the twiddling of his hair around his fingers terrified her. It terrified her because he was a logical man and he was a smart one. It terrified her because Gaara weighed up the cons _before_  the pros, and he was a stickler for finding the problems; his little honourable brain couldn’t help but be right.

But as her nails tapped on the chopping board, Gaara’s muscles tightened, and he couldn’t help but squirm, totally unsure. He’d known what she wanted before the words slipped from her lips, he’d understood the predicament without her doing more than outlining the situation. And, what was by far the worst feeling: he knew exactly what he _needed_  to tell her right now.

While he’d never met the man, he’d been in similar shoes. Not quite the same tread, and certainly not walked the same pathways that his had taken, but the fit was the same. Slightly suffocating, expectant and tiring; slow, arduous and anxiety riddling with every step. Gaara knew how it felt to be staring at the person in the plush chair, behind the desk, with their notepads and their false smiles, and empathy bubbled to the surface more and more the longer he pondered.

Regrettably, Temari had been right. Shikamaru needed help, just like she had always said from the beginning, and he knew if he was the one still strapped into the rollercoaster of therapy it would not have helped him to get off just for a lover.

Nervously the young man gulped, biting on his lip.

“Maybe you’re right,” said Gaara, reluctantly. “Maybe you should take a step back until he’d secure.”

As her eyes began to prickle, Temari nodded solemnly. How could she have expected any other answer from him? Of course he was right, and of course he was ethical about it. He just couldn’t be any other way when it came down to it. His pleasantries and his idealistic approach lasted only so long, and with a wipe of her eyes, Temari forced a smile at him as if to show him she understood that he meant only well. Age really _did_  mean nothing, and the youngest was far and away the most mature—Gaara was ten times more competent in adult decision making than she was.

And yet, in the end—despite his words sounding hauntingly like the thoughts that ate away at her ever further from the back of her mind, too close to the front—it would make no difference. There was something about Shikamaru that tickled her impulses, and after years of saying no to everything, being inherently good and sensible, he made her senses tingle with that desire to do _something_ : _anything_! His persona captivated her so much she hated it, and her body told her that no matter what she would be texting him in half an hour, she _would_  be asking him if he still wanted to see her Saturday, and if he did she _would definitely_  be running to see him.

Shikamaru brought out all the things in Temari she had spent her life tucking away, compartmentalising into little boxes she wanted to keep secret for the rest of her life and feelings she never even thought she’d access. He’d also, unwittingly, caused her to throw away, at some level, her regard for reasoning and she _didn’t care_.

For the first time, Temari’s heart—as much as she still somewhat queried if it was indeed that which did this—was holding the reins, and she was really quite okay with that.

Slowly she took a couple of steps closer to the table, blinking away the guilty tears she didn’t want to admit to having. With a smile, Gaara rose to his feet and sighed. 

“I want you to know that I _do_  want you to be happy. I really do,” he added. “Why else would I have called Shikamaru for you yesterday?”

Temari embraced him without a second thought, swaying side to side in a tight and much needed hug, when out of the corner of her eye appeared a dripping wet face; confused and struck with what seemed like rage, a block of cheddar held in a white knuckle grip.

“Gaara,” Kankuro forced out, his voice laced with a disagreeable laugh. “What did you just say?”

* * *

 

His clothes glued to his skin, Shikamaru shifted slightly in his chair, poking aimlessly at the food on his plate. It sat before him miserable and just cold enough he didn’t want another mouthful, which according to his mother was just what he got for being home late. His parents finishing off their dinner with mixed emotions ever-present in their eyes, and the atmosphere around the round table was nothing short of the usual, un-engaging dynamic he was used to.

As he forced down another mouthful of chicken a shiver made it’s way up his spine to his neck, the cold seeping into every pore. It was then the thought came to him as he stared at down: _Why wasn’t I allowed to get changed?_

“Why _are_  you soaking wet, Shikamaru?”

“Rain, Mum,” he groaned. “Wet, it falls from the sky…ever heard of it?”

He swore he heard Shikaku splutter slightly, but the man wasn’t giving anything away.

“Why didn’t you get the bus?”

“I got a cab.”

“A cab?”

“Yes.” It was a strain not to roll his eyes, but he stopped himself. “A cab.”

“Then why are you wet?”

Shikamaru turned to his father, frowning desperately. “Dad…”

“Are you going to eat your broccoli?”

“Mum, I’m twenty three.”

“So you can definitely formulate a sentence to answer me. _Are you going to eat your broccoli?_ ”

He looked at Shikaku once again, who merely raised his eyebrows at the young man as if to tell him, ‘Just eat the damn broccoli.’ Slowly he shovelled a forkful of peas into his mouth, armed with the knowledge that he should certainly be afraid if he were to annoy his mother.

“Thank you,” said Yoshino, in that same sweet voice, dripping with relief, that she used whenever her son or husband gave into her requests. “Can you pass me the gravy, Shikaku?”

The older man caned his neck slightly, staring into the abyss of an empty jug. “There’s none left, love.”

Frowning, she reached for the jug and peered inside as if she didn’t believe him. “Well,” she grumbled, rolling her eyes, “that’s disappointing. You need to make more next time.”

“Make more?” chuckled Shikaku as he shook his head. “And encourage myself to drown my food further?”

Shikamaru smiled as he locked eyes with his father for a split second. It had been a long time since Shikaku had cooked dinner, and for once it wasn’t awful. That didn’t necessarily mean that he _wanted_  to eat the shoddy excuse for food, dowsed in gravy until it seemed more like soup than a roast dinner, but he appreciated the sentiment. And his father cooking meant one thing—Yoshino didn’t hold it over their heads that she’d fed them that evening, so they had that tiny bit more power than normal, and they were certainly going to take advantage of it.

“Love, could you possibly go and grab that bottle I saw you put in the fridge?”

Yoshino frowned, and so did Shikamaru. His father didn’t usually like to drink with his food, and he liked even less to drink in front of his son given the knowledge he held. This was a ploy—Shikamaru could see that plain as day. His dad was going drop something on him, and he had to get ready for it.

“Please,” her husband sighed. “I just really fancy it.”

“And if you’re going, can you grab me some more water?” added Shikamaru, barely turning from staring at his father as he took another bite to merely prove a point.

Shaking her head, the woman lifted her empty plate and her husband’s with a sigh and stepped backwards out of the room. “You’re lazy, Shikamaru Nara!”

“He’s just efficient,” called back Shikaku when he was sure his wife was far enough away she wouldn’t hear anything softer typical chatter, smiling at his son as he chewed.

The young man widened his eyes and cocked his head to one side expectantly until his father rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward with an inquisitive look. 

“So your date last night,” Shikaku whispered, “go well?”

Even with the mental preparation he’d tried to give himself, Shikamaru almost choked. “What the fuck?”

He chuckled, shaking his head at the predictability of his son. “That _is_  why you’ve been sneaking about, isn’t it?”

“I haven’t been ‘ _sneaking about_ ’, Dad…”

“Come on, boy. Tell me.”

Shikamaru frowned and closed his eyes. “Dad, stop.”

“Serious or just sex?”

“Oh Christ, Dad— _stop_.” He almost threw his knife and fork to his plate, doing all he could not to plug his ears with his finger tips. “I am _begging_  you, old man: stop talking.”

“The top button of your shirt is broken,” observed Shikaku, a snide chuckle at the back of his throat, ready to unleash when his son’s fingertips flew to his collar at once. “And your hair is particularly messy.”

Shikamaru could feel his cheeks flush, burning hot, when he felt no button. “My hair is _always_  messy thanks to your genes…”

“That’s why you were late wasn’t it?”

With one huge squeeze, he let his eyes finally pry open to see the expectant-looking man before him. “Dad,” he groaned out, desperate for an end to the awkward feeling that flew through his veins.

“Say ‘Dad’ as much as you want, kid. I’m not changing the subject.”

Shikamaru looked particularly embarrassed, and as his hand instinctively found the hairs on the back of his neck he sighed. There was no stopping this man. If there was one thing his father had always wanted from him it was honesty; and being open with the trials and tribulations of his everyday life, no matter how big or how small, fell into this category.

And, despite the searing flashes of mortification and sudden memories of awkward talks in years gone by that this moment, right now, brought him, Shikamaru could hardly blame his father’s intrusion into his life. After all, Shikaku had never seen his son date or have a girlfriend, and he’d barely ever—maybe even only once—talked to him about women in general, too. So, it was inevitable that this conversation would arise at some point given the observational skills that his father possessed. Shikamaru just wished that it had come at a different time; a time where he could answer at least one simple question. The one he was grinding his teeth waiting for.

“Is it her?”

He frowned. That _wasn’t_  the question he was expecting. “Who?” he laughed, confused.

“The therapist,” his dad said, as if it was the most unexciting and normal thing in the world.

Shikamaru began to pull on his baby-hairs, barely able to mutter through his uncomfortable laughter, “Dad…” 

“Yes, then.”

To the untrained eye, Shikaku Nara would’ve looked entirely uninterested at that moment— emotionless and plain—but Shikamaru had lived enough years inside paper-thin walls with him to know the man better than that. He knew his father far too well to zone in on the creases between his eyebrows resembling a weak frown and peg him as angry, and he knew so much better than to focus only on the little smile that twitched at the corner of his mouth when his son’s cheeks grew uncomfortably red. The consistent happiness in Shikaku’s eyes as he stared down the young man almost masked the evident worry he held, but Shikamaru understood.

He’d known—of course he’d known—and he also knew that it wasn’t _exactly_  a good situation. And after, way back when, the weird lady who’d tried to jump him in the waiting room rather than ever helping him, he couldn’t entirely bash his father’s cynicism. After all, being raised by a cynic had rubbed off on him a little, as well.

But cynicism, he’d discovered in the time he knew Temari, fell short with your feelings. Sometimes, he’d learned, you had to just put your faith in something and run with it, despite every inch of your being and your personality frowning upon that. And last night he had truly started sprinting, and there was no way he was turning back.

That didn’t make it any easier to admit something which was undeniably frowned upon across the board, though.

“It’s not her fault,” Shikamaru whispered. “It’s mine.”

Surprisingly his father’s smile grew as he leaned a little closer. “Shikamaru, it isn’t anybody’s _fault_ ,” he sighed.

The young man, as relieved as he felt, couldn’t help but stare at him, his subtly worried expression unchanged.

“Love is just love, isn’t it?” Shikaku chuckled. “The first time I met your mother, she slapped me round the face—do you think I _asked_  to fall in love with her?” He waited for a smile on his son’s face that never came, and with a gentle sigh sat back in his chair, shrugging. “I just _happens_ , son. We can’t help it.”

Shikamaru ducked his head quickly and lifted his fork once more, just to push his uneaten broccoli around his plate.

“So it’s too soon to say love?”

“Of course it is,” almost spat Shikamaru through a laugh. “I’ve only known her a month, Dad—barely that!” 

“Time doesn’t make it any less real.”

He truly never thought he’d have this conversation with his father. Whether it was that he’d never expected to come across anyone like Temari as he dragged his feet through life or whether he just didn’t think Shikaku would care, everything about this was so foreign it felt impossible—surreal, even. If the ground were to have swallowed him up then before he could form any word to respond, that would’ve been fine. If his mother had returned and intruded then that would’ve been _so warmly welcomed_  (but she’d clearly misplaced the corkscrew again and was taking an age.) And worst of all, his father wasn’t easing up on his expectant look just yet.

 _Honesty_ , thought Shikamaru. _I should just be honest. Tell him I don’t know how I feel yet._

But that wasn’t truly honest, and even if it was such things were so much harder to execute than to say. 

“I’m not good with my feelings,” he groaned, dropping his fork. “I don’t have to tell you that.”

“That’s just cause you’ve never had them.”

Shikamaru fortunately registered the humour and shook his head with something that vaguely resembled a smile. “Cold, Dad. Cold.”

“Maybe you could talk to your therapist about it.”

“Aren’t you hilarious?” he said, deciding to keep quiet about the fact that, as it stood, he didn’t actually have one.

“Seriously, boy,” Shikaku chuckled and raised his eyebrows at him, “just be honest with yourself. Tell her how you—”

“Here you go!”

Shikamaru jumped as into the room flew Yoshino, placing before his father a bottle, and a half-empty glass in front of him. Nervously he smiled as his mother frowned.

“What? What did I miss?”

“Nothing,” the men said in unison, sharing a subtly knowing glance as one took a drink and the other lifted his fork slowly.

“Oh, Dad, before I forget,” Shikamaru began, piercing through another lump of broccoli to please his mother. “Can I borrow the car on Saturday?”

With a raised eyebrows, the older man hummed. “Why?”

He cocked his head to one side, lip between his teeth as he momentarily widened his eyes. “Just told Choji I’d—”

“Okay,” Shikaku shot back, understanding instantly. “Go for it. Just don’t crash it—oh, or _stain_  anything in it!”

“Very funny.”

* * *

 

“Shikamaru?” Kankuro pounded the block of cheese in his hand onto the side before shedding his coat to the ground. “As in _flower shop_  Shikamaru?”

With a gulp the young woman nodded. “Yes.”

“Gaara, why are you egging her on with this?”

“He’s not—”

“Why _aren’t you_?” intervened Gaara. “Pick your coat up.”

“Because she’s our sister, that’s why! I don’t like the idea of her fucking everything up, and fucking him while she—”

“Kankuro, she’s right bloody _here_!” he scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. “Our sister is a human being capable, frankly, of far superior thought to us. You really think she hasn’t approached this entire situation with the necessary caution?”

“Obviously not if anything at all has happened!” Kankuro gaped and waggled his finger at her accusatively, lowering his tone suspiciously. ‘That’s where you went last night, isn’t it?”

Temari fumbled to speak, her throat closed with anxiety.

“Holy shit, _it was_!” he laughed. “And the night before—it _was_  his you stayed at wasn’t it?”

“Kankuro,” she began weakly with tired eyes, never getting the chance to explain herself. “Please stop it…”

“Didn’t I tell you, Gaara?”

Sick of being the middle man, the youngest sibling sighed and turned away sheepishly.

“You bloody…you arsehole…” Amazed, Kankuro turned back to his sister and shook his head, arms spread wide. “ _He_  bloody knew? And you didn’t tell _me_  a thing?”

She gaped, her nose screwing up more by the second. “Well, _excuse me_  if I didn’t want you to physically attack a perfectly nice and innocent man, Kankuro.”

“Innocent?” he spat. “You don’t watch him every day like I do. You don’t see him and that hot blonde!”

Temari’s blood began to burn through her veins. “My God, you’re so full of shit.”

“And _you_  don’t know him! He’s a bad influence on you—can’t you see that?”

“Spoken by the true _angel_  that _you_  are,” she scoffed. “The man doesn’t even drink! Yes, he smokes, but there’re _far_  worse things he could be doing with his time!”

“I meant professionally, Tem, but if you _want_  to go down _that_ road, let’s go there. Shall we, yeah?” Kankuro crossed his arms, almost snarling. “That girl—the one in the shop he’s always with—you really think that him and her aren’t at it?”

“You’re disgusting…”

“No, Temari!” He shook his head. “I’m just not blind, unlike _some_. Men are arseholes—”

“You think I haven’t noticed that from living with _you_?”

Gaara spluttered with laughter, earning a glare from the pair of them, and sunk back into his chair. “Sorry,” he breathed out.

“Temari,” said Kankuro, his voice laden with a sickeningly familiar patronising tone, “just take a minute to be honest with yourself. You _know_  that he is a bad idea, and you _know_  that you can do so much better than this mess that you’ve willingly gotten yourself into!”

Never in her life, even in the first few sessions with Shikamaru, had she ever wanted to sent her fist flying into somebody’s cheekbone as much as she did right now. There were only a handful of times in her life that she’d truly unleashed her rage on her own brothers, and undeniably most of those were to Kankuro, and he was teetering her on the edge of repeating it. Temari could feel her whole body shaking, her fists tightened into white balls from the tension; fixed like concrete and ready to swing. Every square inch of her skin felt like it was flaming and she could sense the most horrible nervous feeling of needles all over her body.

It wasn’t like she was actively waiting to break her brother’s jaw, but if the opportunity presented itself—f she had to hit him at this point—she wouldn’t hesitate. “Three strikes,” she muttered under breath, so quietly the furious man before her barely noticed.

“Temari, you deserve some guy who can pull his own weight…”

 _Didn’t take long,_ she thought. _Strike one_.

“…that you don’t have to fucking _baby_ …”

_Strike two._

“…because his is so fucked that can barely hold it together for ten minutes without having to rely on fucking _cigarettes_  and _your stupid advice_!”

_Strike three._

But her hands couldn’t move. Instead, when she felt herself surge forward in her unfiltered glory, words just started to fly out.

“Have _you_  sat down and listened to him talk about his life? About his mind? About how he tried to fucking kill himself, Kankuro?” screamed Temari, her face right up in his. “Do you ever stop to consider what it’s like in someone else’s mind and not in your pessimistic like shit hole you call a brain? God, you’re a _prick_!”

Kankuro, for a moment seemed speechless. For a split second as his eyes widened and the air in the room grew clammy, it almost felt like she’d hit the right nerve to stop him in his tracks. Because, in reality, _how dare he_? Where did he earn the right to spout such garbage at her—lies about a kind soul and comments on things he knew literally nothing about? If he was mute from this moment on that would surely be a blessing!

Slowly Temari stepped back, glaring as her voice simmered down to a softer, more scathing vein. “Now what the fuck have you got to say for yourself, huh?”

There was a beat, and Gaara shuffled anxiously at the table as Kankuro stepped up to his sister once more.

“You shouldn’t see him again, Temari; you’re going to get hurt.”

“Oh, shut your damn mouth. Nobody’s going to hurt me but you.” She squinted at him, disgusted by the flickers she could see of her father in his eyes. “Make your own fucking fajitas, asshole.”


	25. The Housing Estate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go exactly how Temari planned, much to Shikamaru's horror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the loooooong wait for this chapter. As I'm sure many of you know life gets in the way of the things we love sometimes, but know that Chess isn't going anywhere - the pace just may decrease throughout exam season.
> 
> Enjoy :)

The smoke filtered through the window as he perched on his windowsill, knees up against his chest as he stared out at the clear sky. Finally, it had stopped raining, and the clouds—lighter and brighter—drifted with as little purpose as they had before the storms had crawled in. And while usually he’d always be glad to sit and watch them float endlessly, his own puffs of smoke joining them every once in a while, today Shikamaru was glad that he had something to do. Well, more glad that he was doing something with her.

From the pocket of his jeans buzzed his phone, reminding him he had only a little time to daydream before he had to make a move, and he was amazed himself that he wasn’t ready to go right now. Upon his eyes opening a mere crack, Shikamaru had woken up instantly in the knowledge that it was Saturday; that she had something planned for him, and that today he got to _be with her_.

But he had forced himself to calm down. He couldn’t let himself get too sappy. How exactly he was meant to take what his father had said to him a few days ago, he wasn’t sure. Shikamaru certainly still believed it was _way_  too early to say that he loved her, but his constant awareness of how long it would be before he saw her again was undeniable. Nothing compared to what surged through him every time he saw her laugh or her lips even curl up into the tiniest smile. He’d switch out watching the clouds for making her laugh any say of the week.

He felt like a sap.

He absolutely hated it.

With a gentle tap Shikamaru dropped ash into empty aluminium can sat on his bedside table beneath him, and took a long drag. She’d said to meet her at twelve-thirty and it was ten-to-twelve now, and despite being desperate to go he couldn’t help being scared to move. It was just Temari—he knew that—and he’d go no matter what, but what if her perception of him had changed after what he’d done on Thursday. He wasn’t like that, he didn’t just walk in and pounce on people, and he could only hope that she didn’t think that was all he wanted from her.

“Relax, man,” he mumbled to himself, taking a drag. He let out a long breath through the open window and shivered as the wind hit his face. “Just fucking chill out…”

There was a gentle rapping on the door, and before he could answer the latch clicked and a voice sounded, low and controlled.

“Shikamaru?”

He looked up. “Shut the door or the smoke alarm will go off.”

Shikaku chuckled. “I just came to give you the keys.” He annoyingly clattered them in his palm.

“Thanks.” 

“But before you go,” he sighed, “I have one more question about her.”

Shikamaru grunted in response. It took almost everything in his brain to stop his fingers quivering with nerves.

“Is she pretty?”

With a smile he met his father’s dark eyes, nodding slowly. “Very. _Ridiculously_ , to be honest.”

“Nice friends?”

He took a drag, raising his eyebrows as smoke clouded his words. “Careful or you’ll sound like an old perv.”

“My son the comedian,” muttered Shikaku as he threw the keys onto the bed.

There was a chuckle between the pair as the young man put out his cigarette on the aluminium. “I don’t know any of her friends. Two brothers though.”

“They scary?”

He shrugged, dropping the stub through the can’s opening. “I’ve only met one and he’s the sort of guy who pulls his hood up over his baseball cap, so…”

Shikaku chuckled, his weight pressed against the wall. “I really should stop you smoking in your damn room,” he groaned, eyes rolling to the back of his head. “Your mother would kill you if I told her you still did this.”

“But you won’t.”

Shikamaru smirked as he hopped off the windowsill and tore off his t-shirt, throwing it haphazardly onto the bed beside his father. He turned away, reaching into his wardrobe to grab the khaki sweatshirt which he drowned in, but before he could pull it over his head Shikaku piped up.

“Christ, son,” he chuckled. “Your back is raked up. What have you…”

With his arms halfway in, the young man froze, turning to face his father with bright red cheeks. Shikaku was biting his lip, forcing himself to hide an unsurprised grin, but Shikamaru wasn’t nearly as cheerful. He’d thought that by now the scratches she had made—that he’d been so conscious of on Thursday night—would’ve disappeared completely. Even if they hadn’t, the least they could do was be faint enough by now that his father’s hawk eyes wouldn’t register them. Obviously, from the snickers that slowly grew in volume, his body hadn’t been so kind to him. 

He froze and slowly turned around, utterly speechless upon seeing how high his father’s eyebrows were positioned on his forehead, and the snide grin on his face.

Shikaku shook his head. “You sly bastard…”

“Dad, it’s not like—”

“They’ve lasted a long time. Must’ve hurt like a bitch on Thursday, huh?”

Shikamaru pulled on the sweater quickly and crossed his arms, desperate to avoid this. “Oi, Dad. Let’s _not_  do this _again_ , yeah?” he huffed. “I _am_  twenty-three. You don’t have to care.”

“And I couldn’t care less, don’t worry,” chuckled his father, a cheerful and mischievous glint hidden behind his suddenly blander expression. “As long as you’re happy, son, I’ll leave you to whatever rutting you decide to partake in.”

“Fucking _rutting_?” spat Shikamaru, his eyes firmly lulling to the back of his skull. “Honestly, Dad, just stop talking.”

He did an awful job at stifling a laugh at his son and swiftly got to his feet, making a beeline for the door. “Watch yourself with her though, son. Strong women often feel so much more than they show you.”

“And by that you mean?”

“By that I mean be careful.” He twisted the doorknob, twisting his head to shoot his son a warm smile. “I want you to be happy, but your mental state is always my priority kid. Always _will be_.”

Unsure of how to respond, Shikamaru grabbed the keys off of his bed and nodded, jangling them as his father had done before. “I need to get going.”

“Be careful, son.”

* * *

There had been radio silence for the last twenty-four hours, and as she stood alone in the crisp air outside the pub, already lively with jolly friends and families having lunch, Temari couldn’t help feeling forgotten. He’d been early for their date earlier in the week. Why wouldn’t he be early when he didn’t have to come on foot?

Maybe he thought it was a bit pathetic that, despite her brother being elsewhere today, she asked him to get her from the pub instead of her front door. Or maybe he’d broken down somewhere? Or he’d forgotten about her entirely?

“Oh, shut up, girl,” she muttered to herself. “He’ll be in traffic or something—yeah, traffic…”

Temari jumped as she heard an angry beeping and began rummaging through her bag to find the source. _Please don’t be him,_  she wished as she fished it out, and answering her pleas, Gaara’s name flashed across the screen. She viciously swiped and held it to her ear.

“What do you want?”

“Morning.”

“It’s afternoon, Gaara.”

There was a chuckle. “I just called to ask where you are? I woke up and you and Kankuro were gone.”

“Of course I do,” she sighed. “I’m out.”

“Where?”

“I don’t have to tell you that.”

“You don’t,” he replied, “but you’re making yourself sound suspicious.”

Temari rolled her eyes, landing them on an approaching car; small and red, boxy and a little rusty. She turned to look at herself in the reflection of the window. “Don’t be annoying.”

“I’ll be out tonight. I’ve got a date.”

“Good for you.”

“Don’t be harsh on _me_ ,” Gaara complained. “It was Kankuro that—”

“I’m sorry, okay?” she whined, as engine whirring grew louder and more annoying. “I’ll wait up for you tonight if you like. And tell Kankuro if he comes back not to try and call me again. I already have to pass him in the hallway and given that he’s not going to listen to me anyway, I’m not up for talking to him.”

“He’s only trying to reconcile and—”

“I know, but it still isn’t okay.” Temari sighed. “I’ll see you later.”

There was a beat.

“Love you, Tem.”

Slowly her lips curved up. “Love you, too. Enjoy your date.”

“You too…” Gaara winced down the line. “I mean, um, _thank you._ ”

She hung up with a groan, smirking to herself at Gaara’s awkwardness. God, what would she do without him to put a smile on her face?

Meanwhile, as he pulled up alongside her, Shikamaru switched off the radio and leaned across the gearstick, panting as he manually rolled down the window and hoping by the time he finished he would’ve stopped himself grinning like an idiot. But eventually he ended up staring at her back nervously, waiting for her to look up from her phone, and the blonde didn’t seem to notice anything around her had changed in the slightest. As she slid her phone into her bag she looked through the pub’s window, adjusting her hair.

Anxiously, Shikamaru cleared his throat and sat back. “Your hair looks fine.”

Temari spun around with a start, gaping. “Christ, Shikamaru!” she gasped. “How did you creep up on me in _that_?”

“I hardly think I did,” he offered, and she smiled in return, yanking open the door with all her strength.

“This car is a bit shit, isn’t it?”

“Trust me: I’m perfectly aware of that,” he laughed. “But you asked for a lift so don’t get fussy. Besides, you know _deep down_  that you weren’t expecting anything good.”

Temari flopped into the seat and rolled her eyes. “Anyway, how are you doing?”

“What was it you said the other night about enjoying the silence?” He smirked, pulling away from the side of the road, and the woman beside him gave an impatient sigh. “I’m alright though, thanks,” he said, “but I have no idea where I’m meant to be taking you.”

“And you don’t have a sat-nav, do you?”

Shikamaru simply had to raise his eyebrows and laugh. “In _this_?”

“I didn’t think so,” she chuckled, prying her phone from her bag. “It’s fine I’ll direct you.”

“Can’t you just tell me where I’m going?”

As she looked over at him, his eyes stared ahead, so wide and cheerful with the same excitement fuelling his bright smile. Temari couldn’t help but mirror him, both in appearance and emotion. Ever scrap of anger at her brother vanished when she locked onto that grin. His satisfaction made her feel so light and carefree, to the point where even in moment she moved out of his sight that feeling remained. It was contagious, this feeling of euphoria he gave off. 

And yet she was about to direct him somewhere it was bound to vanish upon arrival; somewhere where the happiness in his eyes might instantly be replaced with pain. How could she laugh along with him with that knowledge? Surely that was just cruel.

Softly, she giggled and looked back at her phone, but Shikamaru kept his sharp, stubborn going as he spoke, “Unlike you I’ve lived here my whole life, Tem. I know this town.”

Temari sighed. “Just take a right.”

“Temari…”

“Take a _right_ , Shikamaru.”

A chill flew up his spine as he registered the discomfort her voice tried hard to mask, and he—somewhat unwillingly—relaxed his shoulders, flicking the indicator and turning right, just as he had been commanded. Along the long straight road that followed, as silence compressed the walls of the car in a way he couldn’t quite stomach, Shikamaru began to edge his hand across the gear stick. When his fingers tickled hers, Temari’s head snapped up to him, mouth suddenly dry. Nervously she let his fingers wriggle between hers and grip them slightly, and her whole body seemed to relax.

“Left up here,” she told him, a strange, girlish giggle clutching onto her voice. “Then keep going as if you’re leaving town.”

“ _Are_  we leaving town?”

Temari shook her head with a sigh. “Do you have any music?”

“No,” he shot back, far too quickly.

“You definitely do. You at least have the radio. Can’t we—”

“It doesn’t work,” he chuckled nervously, tightening his grip on her hand as if he thought she would try and escape. “Don’t even try it hasn’t worked for years.”

“Shikamaru, I’m not an idiot.”

“What?”

As he turned the corner, he reluctantly took his hand from hers to help him steer, and Temari took her opportunity to rush her index finger to the on button of the radio, only to find Phil Collins blaring out.

Shikamaru hastily turned it down and huffed, rubbing his neck as he halted at some traffic lights.

“I was not expecting _that_.”

“And what exactly _were_  you expecting?”

Temari bit down on her lip, staring at his troubled face. “I don’t know...some deep, meaningful stuff, or some old punk music or something. I don’t know. Just not Phil Collins.”

“It’s Genesis, for fucks sake...” Pursing his lips, Shikamaru tapped on the steering wheel. “You know what? I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

“You don’t,” she smirked, “but you’re _going_  to.”

He rolled his eyes and continued on down the road. “I really liked _Tarzan_ , okay? It just went from there.”

“So did I,” she said, “ _when I was a child_.”

“Then don’t judge me.”

“I’m not judging you.” Temari’s hand wandered over to brush her knuckles against his thigh, and she smiled kindly. “You’re just so strange I don’t know what to expect from you.”

“Thank you for the morale boost, Tem.”

“What? You _are_!”

“ _Plenty_  of people like Genesis and Phil Collins, and people like _far worse_  things!”

“Wow, I have never heard you speak this passionately about anything...”

“Yeah, well you barely know me and you’ve only heard all my mental health bullshit before now,” he grumbled, turning off the soft music that resonated in the background. “It’s just music. It fills…silence.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I know you didn’t mean anything by it, Tem,” he sighed. When she looked over she expected his cold eyes to had softened, and felt a little disheartened when they hadn’t. “Besides, I don’t really care what you think anyway.”

Despite his words, she smiled to herself. _He totally does_.

Shikamaru ground his teeth as they approached the next junction. _You totally do, idiot,_  he thought to himself. _And now she thinks you’re a nerd._

“Right again?” he tried, clearing his throat.

“Yes, Mr. _Dad-Rock_.”

He quickly shot her a glare, and she burst out laughing, causing him to follow in quick pursuit.

How did she do that? Make him laugh at things that weren’t worth laughing about. Her teasing drove him insane, and yet he yearned for more. When she turned the radio back on with a grin, Shikamaru chuckled to himself softly.

He was at her every beck and call, lost on this road without her, and somehow he was glad for it.

* * *

“Here! Pull over here!” Temari demanded, pointing to the lay-by they were approaching.

Shikamaru slowly eased over there with a sigh, and parked, turning to her, exasperated. “Temari, this is a housing estate.”

“I’m perfectly aware of that, Shikamaru,” she managed through her nerves. “I wanted you to come and do something.”

So this wasn’t a date. He had totally got the wrong idea, hadn’t he? Why did he think that with Temari anything could just be as easy as getting in a car and going on a date? If there was some affectionate element to this escapade, he could tell that it wasn’t going to happen right now. A housing estate was hardly the most romantic of places, but was he meant to expect romantic? They weren’t _together_ , after all. They were just two people who had done some things they probably shouldn’t, two people who’d got far more intimate than was appropriate, two people who found each other disasterously attractive…

But did that mean anything at the end of the day? Was he tying her down in the same way he felt compelled to do right by her? Something in him told him no, but there was this other, nagging crevasse in his brain taking charge, forcing him to think positively.

Because maybe, despite what he’d said, she wanted him to meet people; her friends or her family. Oh, what a horrendous idea that sounded, and an idea that he definitely wasn’t up for.

But at least, if that was the case, she _really did_  care about him as much as he cared about her.

“I already told you, Tem, that I’m not ready to meet your—”

“It’s not Gaara,” she interrupted, tutting at his predictability. “Come on. It won’t take long.”

He watched her hop out of the car and, with a huff, mirrored her actions. He slammed the door shut thrice—it taking its usually excessive time to properly close—and leaned on the top of the car, watching her walk away with her nose in the screen of her phone. A smile grew on his lips as he nervously tapped the metal with his fingertips.

“Oi!” She called back to him, waving for him to come closer. “Hurry up, flower boy.”

With a shake of his head, the young man knocked on the roof, cocking his head slightly to one side. “I don’t appreciate that,” he laughed back.

“Don’t appreciate _what_?”

“‘Flower boy’, _obviously_.”

“Tough, now come on.” She held out her hand behind her, expecting him to grab it, and when he finally caught up to her, a very slight spring in his step, he elbowed her with a smirk and kept walking. “Asshole,” she spat, snickering to herself.

“That’s right.” Shikamaru shoved his hands into his pockets, elbow brushing against her arm every few moments. “Now, can you tell me what exactly is happening?”

Temari slowed her pace to keep beside him, chewing on her lip. “We want number 40,” she mumbled, her fingertips brushing his.

She couldn’t help but worry, and not just the subtle feeling of butterflies in the tummy kind of worry. This was full blown, palms sweating, knees ready to give out from guilt worry. What if this wasn’t helpful, and only upset the pair of them? What if she’d lead him into a situation in which he grew more panicked or upset than she’d ever seen him be? It would be entirely her fault—could she handle that? She wasn’t sure she could.

But it was too late now. As they paced along the pavement, their steps becoming synchronised, Temari’s heart began to beat faster. His eyes scanned the doors of each house, and she wondered what he thought was happening. He must’ve had a million ideas, and she was sure none of them were less enjoyable for him than what she actually had in store.

Her toe caught on the edge of the pavement and she stumbled slightly, immediately sending her whole body into panic mode. She should’ve turned them both around and taken them to the movies or something, or grabbed yet another unhealthy meal to tide him over until the next time she fancied scrutinising him.

However, just as it had been a moment before, it was too late—far too late—and Shikamaru started to slow, raising his arm.

Temari gulped, totally unprepared for what was to come.

All she could do was act like this was normal. It wasn’t. It wasn’t _in the slightest._

“Well that’s 38,” he sighed, pointing to their left, “so that one must be…”

Shikamaru stopped, silent as he stared at the house before him. The figure in the window downstairs, her back to them, looked so impossibly familiar, and as her profile came into view before she left his line of sight, Shikamaru’s worst nightmare set in motion.

“Tem, tell me that this isn’t her house.”

“Who’s house?”

“Kurenai’s house. The lady I saw on the bus.”

Temari rested her head on his shoulder, threading her fingers through his so carefully it was as though they might crack. Right now, for all she knew, he might crack hers. “I can’t tell you that.”

“Okay,” he wheezed, an uncomfortable smile coming and going from his face in a matter of seconds. “I’m definitely not going in there.”

“Yes you are, Shikamaru.”

“I’m bloody not.”

“Shikamaru,” she sighed, “all she’s going to do is say hello. You’re not going to upset anyone, and she definitely doesn’t hate you or anything. I mean come on!” Temari urged, squeezing his palm in hope it was more encouraging than her bossiness. “She literally tried to talk to you the other day without prompting.”

“To which I ran away.”

“Because you didn’t know what to do.”

“Yeah, because I’m a fucking _coward_.”

She frowned. “Shikamaru…”

“It’s Saturday, Temari,” he said, pointing at the framing window from which the figure had disappeared. “It’s her weekend. It’s her _daughter’s_  weekend. They don’t want me intruding. I don’t know about you but _I_  was brought up to respect other people’s privacy.”

Temari shot him a vile look. “Right that’s it.” She dropped his hand and adjusted the strap of her bag sharply. “I’m fucking done.”

“What?”

“I’m done,” she repeated, exasperation filling every inch of teal in her eyes. “I’m done trying to help you and having you _not_  try to help yourself.”

“Temari…”

“No, Shikamaru. Don’t.” Her arms linked, crossed across her chest—a barrier he was yet to break through on his own. “I know I sprung this on you quickly, but there’s _nothing_  I want more than for you to be okay so our whole situation can be guilt free—”

“Guilt free?”

“But when you refuse to even try to conquer this huge hurdle, how can I do that?”

“Do what?”

She didn’t answer. She simply turned slowly and pointed in the direction of his little, red rust-bucket.

His blood boiled, and his stomach knotted to the point he felt like he couldn’t breathe, but the look in Temari’s eyes overpowered every ounce of negative emotion in his body.

“Fine. Okay? Fucking _fine_!” Shikamaru stormed up to the door and knocked rapidly, and she could see his body immediately freeze as he rapped his wrist again the wood the final time.

Seeing the man shut down, his muscles as still as if they’d been made out of wax and unready for the pressure and heat they were about to receive, did nothing for Temari except bombard her with heaps of guilt. She’d forced him into this, and he’d been fine to ask know questions. Why she ever thought that he wouldn’t put up a fight, she didn’t know. Why she even considered deliberately guilting him into striding up to that looming red door and knocking made her feel so much more liable for someones pain and discomfort than for anything else in her entire life.

She’d laughed at Kankuro the day he broke his elbow, and the only thing she’d ever forced him or Gaara to do without the help of guilt was to go to therapy. So why if she could laugh off someone’s pain so easily did she fill herself with dread knowing she’d caused Shikamaru to be hit with a tonne of it instantaneously, even before he’d seen the face beyond that door? And why if she’d guilted her brothers into doing things for so many years  why did doing so to Shikamaru feel so criminal?

But she didn’t have time to lament to him her every thought, call him back and pretend this was all just a game of ‘knock down ginger’ as they sprinted back to the car. Before the young man could even turn to see the distressed look on Temari’s face, the loud click of s latch echoed, and the door flew open, the long black hair of Kurenai Sarutobi fluttering in the breeze instantly.

“Shikamaru...” she whispered in disbelief, her bright eyes widening as though she’d seen a ghost.

Despite his inability to run, Shikamaru didn’t have a clue what he was to say. After all these years surely there was so many things she deserved to hear fly from his lips, but ultimately he just nodded. As he bit down hard on his lip, he knew there was only one thing that connected every thought that flew through his mind.

“I, um...” He stopped himself, hand edging towards the back of his neck. Three words had never come less easily when he was so desperate to say them. “I won’t bother you long, but I—uh!”

Never could he have expected the gigantic hug the lady had enveloped him in, but in only a few seconds he felt himself warming, softening his shoulders into her hold. It took no time for him to hug her back, and wrap his arms tightly around the older woman’s torso. Somehow, now, it felt like seeing a family member, despite the fact he was almost certain less words had been exchanged between them in the last ten years than in the last ten seconds, and Shikamaru immediately felt a weight lifted from his shoulders as the weight of her head rested on one.

But it didn’t take long for a shiver down his spine to appear, combatting any warmth the hug had mustered. As the piercing eyes of her daughter stared Shikamaru out, Kurenai pulled away from him, softly smiling beneath the many layers of surprise. But he could barely take his eyes off of that little girl and the structure of her face, the glare and the book in her hands— _that was Asuma’s daughter_. It was so impossible to think about. That girl was old—she was a baby, she was an _actual child_. Seeing her on the bus hadn’t given him time to let that sink in, but now he had no choice but to notice, and knowing that what happened was so long ago that _she_  sat before him as she did provided some shift in his perception of all this. Not much, admittedly—he couldn’t work miracles on his own mind—but a little.

Then again, how was he still so damn pathetic about it after so many years? _God_ , he thought as the little girl turned her attention back to her book, _get your shit together, man._

Fighting the urge to force an awkward smile, Shikamaru ducked his head and shoved his hands into the pocket of his jacket. “I, um,” he began, just about making eye contact. “Kurenai, I just wanted to say sorry.”

With a gentle frown and a slight smile, Kurenai squinted at him. “Sorry?”

“Sorry that I never came,” he added. “Like I told you I would. Back when...you know…” He coughed nervously, his eyes drifting towards his feet. “And sorry for many, _many_  other things…”

“Oh don’t be ridiculous,” Kurenai sighed, reaching for his forearm and tugging his sleeve slightly. “Please, come in.”

Shikamaru screwed his expression up, shivering as his shoulders tensed up. The little girl was back there. “Oh, Mrs Sarutobi, I count possibly—”

“Please, Shikamaru. Come in.”

Afraid and lost for words, Shikamaru turned to Temari, expecting her to say something that might save him from stepping through the threshold. Surely she wanted to do something else with him today other than this, or was her itinerary for the day exclusively filled with mental torture?

The gentle smile she gave him in return gave him the impression she had a mix of both on her mind.

“Your girlfriend can come in, too,” said Kurenai, letting his sleeve fall. “Please. Both of you. I would love to talk to you.”

Why did she want to see him? After this long?

Given that he could hear Temari’s boots clicking on the pathway up to the door, he could only assume the woman he so hated for bringing him here was wearing a fantastic grin to accompany the inevitable nodding she was doing. So, hesitantly, he took as step forward through the door and wiped his feet carefully before entering into the lounge. He could feel Temari looming behind him and hear the shuffle of her coat as he arms brushed against the doorway, but her presence did little to lighten his mood for a change. The little eyes staring up at him were far too powerful for her to work her usual magic.

It took little to notice his discomfort upon entering, and Temari made sure to squeeze his hand gently as she passed him, shrugging her coat from her shoulders and reaching out to shake Kurenai’s hand. “I’m Temari, by the way,” she said confidently, a bright smile across her face. “It’s so nice to meet you, Mrs Sarutobi.”

“Oh, please don’t—I’m not a work. I don’t need _more_  people calling me that,” she laughed. “Call me Kurenai, Temari.”

Temari smiled. So _she_  was a teacher, too? Interesting…

“Tea?” sounded Kurenai’s voice as she stepped backwards through the lounge. “Coffee?”

“Tea would be fantastic, please,” the blonde said, her voice far sweeter than she liked her tea. “Milk, no sugar for me, please?”

The kind woman nodded and turned her attention to Shikamaru, who still loomed in the doorway, hands in pockets, and firmly on the child who occupied a spot on the sofa.

“Shikamaru?”

When Temari said his name, he barely managed to turn his head to look at her. It was only when she grabbed his sleeve that he snapped round, confused.

“What?” he muttered.

Temari let the corner of her mouth raise. “Do you want coffee?”

He nodded slowly, looking at Kurenai for a moment then back toward the girl.

The older woman’s gentle eyes followed his gaze slowly, as did Temari’s, and set on the child with a gentle smile. Gently her voice sounded, and she stepped over to her daughter, a hand grazing the black hair that topped her little head. “Shikamaru,” she smiled, staring down at the girl, “this is Mirai. And Mirai, this is Shikamaru.”

Mirai looked up, a cute flush across her nose and cheeks. She pawed at her mother’s hands nervously before looking up, across the room at the young man who stood so incredibly still. “Shikamaru?”

His entire body shook as she said his name, and he’d never been more glad for Temari’s elbows to nudge him out of his freaked-out haze. 

“Yes,” said Kurenai. “He is one of daddy’s old friends.”

The sentence whipped through him, a wind in his sails which all at once lifted him up and sent him crashing down. It amazed him how he could feel so instantly lighter, and yet feel like the world was now pushing its weight even further onto his shoulders. Even more surprisingly was the indifference that laced Mirai’s eyes—a child who he’d been so afraid to meet, and so terrified to look in the eye, smiled at him and said a feeble, “Hello,” before turning her attention back to her book. She couldn’t care less who he was, or what he did. She didn’t know him before this very moment, and she had no idea what he had done in the past, but Shikamaru couldn’t decide if he felt better or worse for that.

“You have pretty hair, Miss,” mumbled Mirai, her bright eyes fluttering to Temari for a split second as her mother backed out of the room. 

Temari smiled and leaned forward slightly, raising her eyebrows. “Well, thank you. Your hair is very lovely, too.”

She heard Shikamaru snort as he finally started to slip his coat from his shoulders, and have him a swift elbow in the stomach to drop his backside onto the chair. With a groan he sighed and shook his head, and within seconds the little girl before them was giggling.

“Mummy said it’s wrong to hit people.”

“Well,” whispered the blonde, her thumb pointed at Shikamaru, “he is _very_  annoying and makes fun of me, so I make an exception.” She bit her lip, cheeky, and squinted. “Is that fair, do you think?”

Without a second to think about it, a grin stretched across her chubby cheeks, Mirai nodded with another giggle.

Shikamaru nudged Temari desperate to look into her eyes, but as their gazes collided and her bright orbs stared him down, he was unsure whether to feel grateful or pissed off at what she’d done. This was, undeniably, one of the most unenjoyable moments he had spent with her. It probably even made it into the top ten worst moments of his life—or most awkward ones at the very least—and yet he wanted to smile at her. She didn’t look like she meant to upset him, and he had to believe that. He _did_  believe that.

“You really threw me in at the deep end,” he muttered, his hand firmly on the back of his neck. As her fingertips dragged it away and gripped his tightly, a triumphant smile subtly staining her lips, Shikamaru couldn’t help adding an even quieter, “Thank you.”

“You’re more than welcome, stupid,” she sighed. Temari rested her head on his shoulder momentarily, giving his hand a quick squeeze. “Next up on the agenda is visiting his grave.”

“Your sense of humour is vile, Temari,” he chuckled, whipping out the lighter that dug into his hip like a thorn.

Temari couldn’t help noticing he began to open and close it rapidly, an irritating clicking sound resonating through the room. In the silence, it was impossible to ignore, and Temari was moments away from snatching it from his grasp and stuffing it in her own pocket. But then, as she registered the way his jaw clenched, she remembered what Choji had told her when she met him; how he flicked it all the time, and that he did so for fun. But she could see now quite clearly that Choji wasn’t quite right. Maybe it was her time around so many nervous people given her job, or maybe it was just intuition after knowing him a short time, but it seemed to her like the lighter came out when he was nervous; like some sort of comfort blanket.

Admittedly it felt good to know he hadn’t done this around her before, and to know he felt less nervous with her than people he’d known years. It was possible that what he said about her bringing him calm was true, after all.

There was a little shuffling noise and the sound of mugs settling down on wood.

“That’s how I recognised you on the bus,” Kurenai said, sadly, plodding towards the pair with a mug in each hand. “The lighter, that is.”

“What is it?” Mirai asked timidly, following her mother’s eyes to the metal object. “I thought you said don’t play with fire, Mummy.”

“Shikamaru was friends with Daddy,” she said softly. “The thing he’s holding, the cigarette lighter; that was Daddy’s.”

A sincerely amazed look spread across Mirai’s expression, and she slammed shut her book to hop off of the sofa, dragging her little feet across the carpet to her mother. As the little girl reached up and grabbed the woman’s hand, Temari felt a sinister pang of jealousy in her chest. And, when the pair smiled, she could feel her throat tightening shut.

She wanted to cry looking at them, and while she had no place to tear them apart the desire to do so was overwhelming to her. It was rare, but upon seeing things like this, mothers and daughters together, that she yearned for the warmth of her mother’s hand in her’s. If some scrap of motherly love could drift her way she’d be pleased, but never would it happen; just as it hadn’t for the past decade or so.

But she missed her, so much, and hearing Kurenai’s words were nearly too much for her. The softness of her tone, just managing to shave off that patronising hint to reveal the pure affection and care that lay beneath. It was far too reminiscent of the sort of things she used to say to Gaara when they were children, and her mind flew to every night under the stars in their Godfather’s garden, every midnight meeting in the room her brothers shared to hold them until they calmed down, and all the times when she’d been the only one who understood; the only one who remembered.

As her mind had whirred around, Kurenai had sat down with Mirai, their arms around each other, and her mouth was moving as she spoke to the little girl. Temari could barely hear her over the guilt she wallowed in, jealous of this relationship. However, the gentle nudge of Shikamaru’s knuckle on the back of her hand brought her swiftly back to reality, and with a grateful smile she nudged him back.

Though neither of them noticed, they shuffled a little closer together, and immediately the room felt empty.

Smiling slightly, Kurenai looked up and over a Shikamaru. “I have to admit,” she said, “I’m amazed you still have it. That you kept it all this time.”

He scoffed, and with one final tap he flicked the lighter shut. “As if I was ever going to get rid of it.”

“He’d be very humbled.”

He nodded, knowing full well that her words weren’t an attempt at kindness, but rather just the truth. His palm wrapped around the metal, a calming cool against his hot hand, and the other found Temari’s by instinct. For a moment he worried if she would accept his plea to hold her, keep her there for what was undoubtedly going to be a difficult conversation for him not matter how kind Kurenai was. Why he had visions of the blonde snatching her hand away, he had no idea, because she grasped it quickly and squeezed wholeheartedly.

If at any point he felt uneasy, he had her. With one squeeze she would ground him, and he had never been more grateful for anybody in his life.


	26. Maybe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While at the Sarutobi residence, Shikamaru is forced to think.

“I’m going to take a guess and say you have something else you want to say?”

Shikamaru shrugged, taking an oversized sip of boiling hot coffee. His mouth seared with heat. He couldn’t help feeling it served him right. Despite wanting to speak, it wasn’t happening. There were almost _too many_  words, too many other things he wanted to say.

“So you went to uni in the end, I suppose?”

There was silence.

Kurenai shifted. “You’re intelligent, Shikamaru—Asuma mentioned it more than a few times. You’re telling me you  _didn’t_  go to university?”

He shook his head, preparing for the usual eye roll and comment of how he’d wasted the most valuable years of his life in a bloody flower shop.

Temari elbowed him, clearing her throat. “He chose to become a mute instead, it seems.”

“Shut it,” he muttered, making the mistake of swilling yet more searing hot coffee around his cheeks. He winced once he’d gulped it down and nervously leaned forward, unable to stop his eyes veering towards Mirai, once again, through the glass doors of the conservatory.

But quickly he felt his eyes focussing less on her, but rather the landscape behind her; the shrubberies and the cherry blossom tree that hung over the garden fence from next door. He swore he could see it, a slither of smoke drifting from behind this giant potted plant, and his veins flooded with a sudden shot of adrenaline, and every desire in his brain hopped toward the idea of investigating that garden, that plant, that smoke.

“Shikamaru?”

He blinked himself into the realms of reality just before he could spill his coffee over his feet, met by Temari’s soft but definitely unimpressed stare.

“Kurenai asked you a question,” she whispered.

Her hand traced very slight circles on his forearm, and he wondered how he hadn’t noticed until this moment. Moments earlier he had been calm and still, almost _happy_  to be perched on the edge of Kurenai’s sofa, glad at the very least.

Now was not the time to go into a trance.

Carefully he set the coffee cup down and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “I’m sorry,” he sighed. “What did you say?”

The pitiful look in Kurenai’s eyes was almost too much to bear. “Don’t worry about it.”

“No, please.” Shikamaru rubbed his eyes and reached into his pocket. “I _am_  interested, I swear.”

“I don’t doubt that. But your mind is elsewhere, it’s not hard to tell.”

“No, I—”

Kurenai chuckled and got to her feet, reaching for Temari’s empty teacup. “Just get out there.”

His eyes flickered to Mirai, then quickly to the garden, then back to the lady before him whose eyes were so ridiculously friendly and seemed ready to laugh.

“Go on,” she smiled. “Go have a smoke.”

God, was he really _that_  transparent?

“It’s okay, I’m not offended.” She reached for his mug only to find it almost full. “ _He_ was exactly the same—lost in himself when he was stressed and hadn’t got it out of his system with one of those things. I don’t agree, but still.”

“I’m sorry.” His hand almost found the back of his neck, but he felt warmer fingertips than his own grab it before contact was made, and carefully she brought his hand down to her lap.

Temari smiled and nudged him. “Don’t catch your death out there, okay?”

Shikamaru nodded, clambering to his feet and swiping his coffee up from the side. He reached out to hand it to Kurenai meekly, but she shook her head. 

“If you haven’t finished with it you can take it out. It’s only a mug.”

He nodded, biting his lip. “I _do_ want to talk to you, I swear,” he mumbled. “I’m just a wimp.”

“You’re not a wimp,” said the women in unison, and Shikamaru felt the hairs on the back of his neck fly up on end instantly.

“We can talk when you’re ready. We don’t even have to talk today if you don’t want to.” Kurenai rested her hand on his shoulder. “Just go have your smoke and chill out—alright, kid?”

He nodded. “Alright.”

It was only a matter of steps before the soles of his shoes stopped shuffling across the carpet and halted. “I was going to go to uni, by the way,” he insisted, his voice meek through the silence. “I wanted to.”

Kurenai smiled once more. “It’s not for everyone, Shikamaru. Go on—smoke.”

With a smile he raised his hand in thanks and shuffled towards the door. “I’ll shut the door behind me.”

Temari winced awkwardly as she rubbed her hands together, hauling herself off the sofa to be level with Kurenai. The way the woman stared out at her daughter, and at the figure that meandered around her garden—cigarette poking out the side of his point—you’d think this was normal for her. The blonde couldn’t help wishing that she, too, was so accepting, so calm in the presence of those who were close to her family.

“I’ll wash those,” she said, trying to repay the woman’s kindness somehow. Or at least that’s what she told herself as she took the two mugs from her hand and tore Kurenai’s eyes off of the two people ahead of her.

Jealousy wasn’t something she was used to, but neither was affection from either a man or a parent. She wanted both, and envied Kurenai for having had just that, and for having known Shikamaru longer than her; envied Mirai for hearing her mother’s voice every day, and gaining the most heartfelt looks from Shikamaru in just a short time.

But she shouldn’t have. She should not have envied the life of the two ladies in this house. It hit Temari as she turned the corner to the kitchen, Kurenai looming behind her, and the hung picture on the wall of her and Asuma all dressed up in their wedding attire—so young and full of smiles—stopped her in her tracks.

She might not have had her mother for long, but she had for _some_  time. She might’ve had a father not many would’ve loved, but she had him all the same. And she might not have known Shikamaru long, or even too well, but she had him now—right now she had someone who cared for her and smiled at her for almost everything she’d do.

Neither Kurenai or her daughter had that right now, and as she set the dirty mugs in the sink, eyes still fixed on the most beautiful and most genuine wedding photograph she’d ever seen, Temari realised quite how lucky she was.

* * *

The garden was wet, and the edge of the conservatory gave little shelter from the developing rain, but Shikamaru barely noticed the spatters of water against his forehead as he dragged his feet through the grass. He couldn’t help feeling a little downtrodden that the smoke he’d seen from inside the living room was little more than the bloke next door who he’d just heard be called in by his missus.

He knew it was stupid—ridiculous in fact—for it to be anything else. What else was he expecting? Asuma’s ghost to be perched behind the plant pot, puffing away ready to load him up with all the life advice he needed? If that was really what he was thinking, Shikamaru needed a therapist more than he realised—probably more than just that.

No, he needed to just let his mind wander for a moment—wrap his head around where he was and why, entirely on his own.

Yes, he somewhat wanted to leave Temari to walk home in the rain for bringing him here. Yet he knew if he was to kickstart the mindset he knew he needed to create, then he had to be honest with himself, brutal to himself. He had to speak his mind and feel it open up.

Through the kitchen window he could see Temari nodding softly as Kurenai spoke to her, and he felt the corners of his mouth twitch when she smiled. She appeared to shoot something witty back, and the older woman burst into laughter, so loud he could hear it through the window pane.

Maybe he _hadn’t_  let Asuma down. And maybe he hadn’t let Kurenai down, _or_  her daughter. After all she laughed well, and Mirai sat metres away from him behind glass, giggling at the little book in her hands amongst blankets. The gardened he wandered around in circles was well kept, pretty, and behind the fence there were no words that didn’t ring full of positivity.

So maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t failed him; his cowardice hadn’t ruined anything. Maybe he could believe that was true.

In the back pocket of his jeans, his phone began to buzz.

Placing the cigarette back between his lips, he whipped it out and opened up his messages. There were four, quick-fire messages from both Ino and Choji to the group conversation they all shared, and reluctantly his thumb tapped the screen.

 **Choji:** shikamaru???

 **Ino:** I see you down there. He’s not here. He’s got the day off work x

 **Choji:** since when does he take days off????

 **Ino:** Since he got a girlfriend, obvs x

Shikamaru rolled his eyes and took a drag. There was nothing he wanted less than to respond to this, but from the bubble that appeared almost instantly it was too late. They had noticed him.

 **Choji:** where are u???? where did she take u???

He sighed.

—> _You two are a joke._

The bubble appeared again and he frantically tapped once more.

—> _Not my girlfriend._

 **Ino:** Yet ;) x

 **Choji:** where are u????

—>  _Capitals and correct use of question marks ring any bells?_

 **Choji:** Where are u?

He chuckled. There was no doubt he appreciated his friend’s interest and care for him, but there was no way in hell he was telling them both what was happening—he couldn’t effectively explain within the lifetime of the cigarette between his lips, where he was and why.

—> _Visiting someone. I’ll explain later._

Before he could turn off switch off the screen there was a flash at the top, a personal message.

 **Choji:** if you’re where I think, man, you’ll be fine :)

And somehow, for now, that was all he needed; whether Choji thought the right place or not. That and seeing the beautiful girl at the kitchen window smile out at him when he looked up.

Yes, when a little hand against the glass of the conservatory caught his eye, and the blushing round face it belonged to fluttered her big eyes, Shikamaru’s chest froze up and the pit in his stomach opened up. But that was okay for now. Something about the smiles on all of their faces told him that even if _he_  didn’t think it was okay, it could be. It _would_  be.

This wasn’t a feeling that could be fixed in one trip, he knew that for sure. He knew, whether it was alone, or with Temari or Choji at his side, he would surely be back here soon enough. After all, he needed to—and, strangely enough, he wanted to.

* * *

“I’m sorry if I sound silly asking,” said Temari slowly, leaning against the cabinet behind her, “but weren’t Shikamaru and your husband exceptionally close for a student and his teacher?”

Although slightly affronted Kurenai nodded, chuckling. She held her hand under the hot water as she ran the tap, waiting for it to heat up to continue her washing she refused to let Temari do.

“Didn’t you find it weird?”

“Oh, yeah: really weird,” she smiled. “But I couldn’t really tell him to not be enthused by his students.”

Temari scoffed. “I would’ve. I never liked any of _my_  teachers.” She felt her phone buzz in her pocket, but ignored it. “Personally it kind of freaks me out.”

All the lady did was smile.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend,” spluttered the blonde. “You’re a teacher as well, right?”

Kurenai nodded softly. “He and I were both teachers—we met in training, you see—but I think secretly Asuma didn’t want to teach at all.”

“No?”

“No,” she said. “He did it because it was stable money, I know that. But he never told me what he _did_  want. I never asked.” She sighed, piling dirty glasses into the soapy water. “He was miserable until he started teaching Shikamaru. He was his in his tutor group—as were those other two he’s friends with.”

 _Ino and Choji,_  thought Temari, nodding along as she stepped closer. She lifted a damp tea-towel from the kitchen side and reached for a clean mug. _The least I can do is help given how sad we’ve clearly made her by making her talk about all this…_

“I _think_ ,” she continued, “he thought of Shikamaru as much an adult as he was, and by the final year they really were friends more than anything. I always thought it was some strange pity thing, and weirder, worrying stuff even crossed my mind once or twice, but when I saw he’d left the kid something when he left us—that lighter he used every day—I knew he was serious.”

Temari nudged her with her elbow, forcing a smile as she saw subtle tears in the corner of Kurenai’s eyes. With that the older woman smiled and passed her another cup to dry up, and the two knew it was all settled for the moment.

“You can come over any time if you’re going to help me wash up,” she laughed.

“Oh, Mrs Sarutobi,” she giggled in reply, “anything you need.”

Her eyes shifted, out the window and into the garden, right into the gaze of Shikamaru again. He smiled as he puffed on the last of his cigarette and she grinned right back. Nothing filled her more with relief than seeing him smile now, despite the fact she’d brought him her against his will, and despite the way he’d quivered and blanked out in the living room. And while she couldn’t rule out the possibility that her relief was not because he was okay but rather that she hadn’t completely ruined his day, she was happy in that moment. Thankfully, by the look of it and his grin, so was he.

Kurenai was clearing following her eyes outside. “Shikamaru seems like a good man.”

“He is a _wonderful_  man,” whispered Temari as she stared out of the window at him, kicking at the leaves as edged closer to the door. “Sometimes he seems like the _most_  wonderful man.”

“God, I remember that feeling,” she chuckled, drying her hands on a tea towel. “I remember it all too well, and yet he never understood why I thought so.”

“Deep down I think Shikamaru knows he’s good,” sighed the blonde as she turned away from the window, locking eyes once more with the lady before her. “But I think he’s so caught up in the past—so annoyed at himself for, quite frankly, just being human—that he drowns in guilt.”

“Guilt over Asuma, I assume?”

Temari nodded. “That he couldn’t bring himself to face you after he died.”

Kurenai frowned. “But why would he feel that way?”

“Your daughter.”

The wistful voice from the doorway behind them sent the women spinning round to face him, staring into dark eyes that were so suddenly filled with sadness it was almost unbelievable. Shikamaru leant on the threshold as though nothing was wrong, hands shoved deep within the pockets of his jeans, and let out a great sigh.

“Asuma was such a huge figure in my life,” he told them, “and although it probably sounds dumb I felt like I’d lost my uncle or something...” He looked down, withdrew one of his hands and rubbed his eyes. “But Mirai…”

Temari walked over to him and removed his hand from his face gently, giving it a slight squeeze. “You can be upset, Shikamaru.”

He ignored her, staring straight at Kurenai. “He was _actually_  your family, and Mirai never gets to grow up with her dad—never even got to meet him. I was just so selfish for feeling the way I did, and I couldn’t forgive myself; couldn’t bare to force someone who’d _truly_  suffered to see _me_  fall apart for what seemed like no valid reason.”

There was a beat.

“Shikamaru?”

He sighed, and only then did he realise the rigid nature of his body. He forced his neck to shift, convincing his senses he was still more man than stone. “Yes?”

Kurenai took a single step closer to him and reached for his shoulder. “You weren’t selfish.”

“You say that,” he muttered, “but I _was_. I _know_  I was.”

“Okay then.” She sighed. “I forgive you. If that’s what you need to hear, then I forgive you.”

Shikamaru tensed, and the tightening of his hand almost made Temari well up. “Don’t say it if it isn’t true.”

“Of course it’s true,” Kurenai chuckled. “Come on; calm down, relax your shoulders and go home—enjoy the rest of your day.” She enveloped him in a hug, to which he hugged back, letting go of Temari’s hand regrettably. “I’m so glad I finally got to talk to you. You’re a good man.”

“Thank you,” he forced out.

“No thanks required,” she replied, pulling back and leading the pair out of her kitchen and back through to the door. 

He forced a smile as he followed, reaching for Temari’s hand once again without a second’s thought. “He always said you were kind.”

Kurenai smiled, opening the door. “I’m glad,” she said. “Come back any time you want to, okay? Door is always open.”

Temari smiled and mouthed a silent thank you, but the man beside her, with a slight smile across his lips, looked out into the conservatory at the little whose nose was deep in the book before her. Instinctively he reached into his pocket with his free hand, meeting metal instantly. “Hey,” he said as softly as he could, eyes never moving. “You really _can_ have the lighter back, if you want it—or if _she_  does.”

“No, it’s okay,” she smiled, following his eyes to look at her daughter. “Like I said; he gave it to you. It’s _yours_. We don’t need it.”

He nodded. “Well, I’ll see you around.” He felt a squeeze around his hand. “ _We_ ,” he corrected, “will see you around.” 

And with a freshly genuine smile, Shikamaru turned away from her.

“ _Wait_!”

He whipped round in the blink of an eye, and looked down to see eyes staring up at him, a little frown across them.

Mirai poked out her bottom lip as she grabbed her mother’s trouser leg mindlessly. “Are you leaving?”

He almost couldn’t get the words out. “Yeah, we are.”

“Are you coming back?” She sounded somewhat sad, and Shikamaru hated it—couldn’t stand it.

“Yeah,” he told her with certainty, kneeling down. “We definitely are, eventually.”

“Good,” she mumbled, and grabbed her mother’s leg tighter. She watched with a smile as Shikamaru rose and stepped back, and out of absolutely nowhere gushed forward and grabbed his legs into a great hug.

Shikamaru had to grab the wall to stop him from falling, and, after forcing himself not to swear in surprise, he smiled to himself. “Goodbye, Mirai,” he said, trying his best not to let tears form in the corner of his eyes. “It was lovely to meet you.”

She nodded and slowly let go before running off back to the conservatory. “Bye!”

Temari watched as Shikamaru adjusted his coat, tucked loose hair behind his ears and rubbed his eyes, desperate to hide the tears. She wished she’d got a hug from the little girl, but she’d never really thought she’d be very good with kids. Still, as she zipped up her jacket and listened to the young man before her hum as he walked, she let out a sigh of relief.

Everything today, she decided in that moment, _was_ worth it.

Chuckling, Kurenai rested her hand on Temari’s back. “Thank you,” she whispered to her as Shikamaru stepped completely out of the doorway and away from them, rustling his keys as he went. “For bring him here to see us.”

“Oh, please,” Temari smiled, “thank _you_  for opening the door.”

* * *

The car ride that ensued was predominately silent, not including the faint sound of Phil Collins through the mangled radio.

Temari barely paid attention to what was going on, what buildings were around them or the people that went by, but she was certain that after about ten minutes, they were not where she expected them to be.

“Shikamaru?” she piped up, frowning as she stared out the window.

“Mhm?”

“Where the hell are you taking me?”

He chuckled and shook his head.

“Right,” she muttered, “I want to trust that you’re taking me home, but this is starting to feel eerily like an abduction.”

Shikamaru spluttered. “An abduction?” he laughed. “You aren’t half melodramatic, are you?”

“I’m not,” she insisted, “but I like to know where I’m going.”

“As do I. And yet where did I end up today?”

Temari grew silent, and her spine tingled.

With a sigh, he reached over and grabbed her hand. “That wasn’t a dig, Tem. I’m grateful for today.”

She smiled slightly and looked over at him, the ever-changing light of the sunset behind his silhouette, shrouding him with hues of orange and pink that seemed somewhat out of this world. In that moment she wanted nothing more than for him to stop the car and just look at her, stare her down with those dark eyes, and envelope her in his arms. She wanted him to hold her tight and tell her that everything was okay; that he wanted nothing more than to watch her, night and day.

But that was ridiculous. He barely even noticed she’d been staring at him by the time she turned away, and hummed along to his music none the wiser.

Temari sighed and sat back, letting her dreams be just that. “Where are we going?”

“I thought we had already established that I’m not telling you.”

“If you don’t tell me,” she warned. “I will get out right now.”

“You will _not_ jump out of a moving vehicle.”

“Try me.”

Shikamaru smirked. “You’ll jump out if I _do_ tell you, since you’re so sure you’re capable of it.”

“Shikamaru.”

“Fine,” he chuckled, “I’m literally just dropping the car off. We’re almost there, anyway—it’s just around the corner.”

Her head whipped round. “Dropping it off?”

He nodded slowly. “At my house,” he said calmly.

Temari winced and dug her nails slightly into her palms. “Um, Shikamaru…”

“You can get out here, don’t worry,” chuckled Shikamaru. “I’m not returning the favour of the day and forcing you to meet anyone.”

“Then why the fuck are we heading to your family home?”

She didn’t sound even slightly amused by the situation, and Shikamaru knew the only way to send the angry lines that creased her forehead packing was to let her out. Carefully he pulled over to the side of the road. “I only thought,” he said, taking her hand gently and letting his thumb run over the back of her hand, “that if I parked up we could walk to the pub for a bit. I don’t like parking around there.”

Temari said nothing, only curved up one eyebrow, unconvinced.

“Plus,” he sighed, somewhat embarrassed. “I don’t know if Dad needs the car tonight.”

With a weak smile, Temari unclipped her seatbelt and pushed open her door. “I’ll wait out here,” she mumbled, giving his hand a final squeeze. “See you in a minute.”

Shikamaru smiled and nodded. “I’ll be right back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for how bloody long this has taken to come into the world - nothing has been easy since exams started, and despite the fact they ended months ago, only now can I start posting again.
> 
> however, hope you liked, and the next chapter should be a little less on the heavy side and a bit fluffier, too.


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